


All Because of You

by burninghoneyatdusk



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender!Bellamy, Coparents, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jake ships it, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, They all ship it but Jake REALLY ships it, Unplanned Pregnancy, all the tropes tbh, artist!Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 175,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk
Summary: When Clarke gets knocked up at 18 by her best friend's brother, her plans for the future go down the drain. She never would have guessed that seven years later, her and Bellamy would be successfully co-parenting their daughter as best friends. Best friends - nothing more, nothing less. Clarke has never let herself entertain the thought of anything more - she knows where Bellamy's stood since the beginning. It's time for her to move on, once and for all.When Bellamy gets Clarke pregnant, he feels like he's ruined her life. He makes a promise to himself that he'll make sure his daughter and Clarke have the lives they both deserve- and he's sure Clarke deserves a hell of a lot more than him. He thinks he's done a good job pushing away his feelings for her for the last seven years, but when Clarke gets engaged, he wonders if he's made a mistake. He wonders if it's too late.





	1. If Only I Could Wake You Up

**Author's Note:**

> Every other chapter in this story will be chronological flashbacks of Bellamy and Clarke, specifically through the pregnancy and eventually leading up to the present day. Title is from O.A.R.'s song "All Because of You" which has all the Soft™ Bellarke feels. 
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated. Yell at me on tumblr @burninghoneyatdusk.

Clarke peers out the front window of her small two bedroom house, checking the driveway for her dad’s car for what feels like the hundredth time. Just as she’s about to turn away from the still empty driveway, she sees his black BMW pull in. _ Finally. _

Clarke opens the door for him before he’s even out of the car.

“Did someone here order pizza?” he jokes. “Couldn’t remember if it was this house, or maybe the one next door...” Clarke just rolls her eyes, although she can’t help the little smile that escapes. Her dad has always known how to make her laugh when she’s stressed out. 

“What took you so long?” she asks as he walks past her into the house. He manages to carry all eight pizzas by himself, the plastic bags filled with soda and chicken wings slung on each arm. 

“You know how Grounders is, sweetheart.” Clarke follows him into the kitchen and helps him load the pizzas onto the counters. “Best pizza in the city, but run by a bunch of stoned teenagers.” 

“Oh, thank god,” Raven sighs as she walks into the kitchen, Maya right beside her. “The kids are getting antsy.”

“Hey, Jasper used to work at Grounders,” Maya says, faking offense. 

“I said what I said,” Jake deadpans, and they all laugh with him at that. He’s always been great with all of her friends and has become like a second father to a lot of them. 

“We better hurry, I don’t know how long Murphy is going to hold off the child army,” Raven laughs as she gathers the galaxy-themed paper plates and napkins, nodding towards the kitchen window that overlooks Clarke's small backyard. 

Clarke takes a peak as she starts unpacking the soda and boxes of chicken wings. Murphy is being chased by a small swarm of eight balloon-sword wielding children, her daughter apparently leading the hunt. They’re joined by Emori, who seems to only be encouraging the attack.

Bellamy, Wells, and Harper are standing at the side, laughing at the scene in front of them. Luna and Lincoln don’t know the group very well but seem to also be thoroughly entertained by the scene from where they’re sitting at the small table on her back deck. They’re joined at the table by her mom and Aurora, who are both holding a glass of wine and smiling at the scene, occasionally making a remark to one another. 

Clarke smiles to herself, gratefulness washing over her for the huge support system - no, _ family _ \- that they've formed for Lucie. She reminds herself often to never take it for granted.

“Where are Jasper and Monty?” Clarke asks, turning her attention back to the chicken wings. 

“Oh, Monty had to go change Jordan,” Maya answers as she opens and displays the pizzas around the kitchen island. “Jasper was apparently too excited to explain some new app he's developing to wait until they could talk without the smell of shit surrounding them.” Clarke laughs at that and catches Maya giving a good-natured eye roll at the two men. 

“Hey, Clarke,” Raven says, popping her head into the kitchen from the dining area to get her attention. “Miller just called. Jackson and him are on their way now, apparently Jackson got stuck late at the hospital.” Clarke isn’t surprised. She knows from her mom that the hospital is incredibly short-staffed. 

“Alright, who wants pizza!” Jake yells from the back deck. The kids start cheering and immediately drop their swords, Murphy all but forgotten by all of them but Emori. She pulls him in to kiss his cheek as they follow the kids inside. 

Harper is the one who manages to corral them into something resembling order as they make their way into the house. Her skills aren’t wasted as a kindergarten teacher, she’s a true child whisperer in a way Clarke could never be. Bellamy comes in last, their daughter thrown over his shoulder and in a fit of giggles. Bellamy’s smile matches Lucie's and Clarke smiles at the both of them, a blissful expression on her face. She's momentarily distracted by the sight of them until she hears Raven taking pizza orders from the kids and jumps into help.

\--∞--

About fifteen minutes after they’ve got the kids settled with their pizza, the adults help themselves to their own slices and beers or wine. Some take theirs into the living room to sit and eat while Clarke and a few others stand around the kids in the dining area to keep an eye on them. She eats the slice of Hawaiian that her mom hands her and watches Lucie talking and giggling with her friends. She can hardly believe she’s already turning six. As cliche as it is, it feels like she was just born yesterday. Clarke’s not ready for her to grow up, not yet. 

Murphy shakes his head at her pizza choice as he makes his way to the living room with his own and Clarke sticks out her tongue in response, apparently no different from the six year olds she’s hosting. All her friends give her shit for loving Hawaiian pizza, insisting it’s an act against God to put any kind of fruit on a pizza. Her dad must have ordered a small one just for her because she knows no one else here will eat it. 

She looks up to find where her dad went off to and spots him eating in the corner of the dining room, laughing with Bellamy about something. Bellamy has become like a son to him over the years, despite their uneasy start. At this point she thinks her dad might prefer Bellamy, but she can hardly blame him. 

Clarke takes another bite as she watches Lucie call Bellamy over. He holds onto her as he crouches down so she can whisper something into his ear. Whatever it is makes Bellamy chuckle. Despite not having any idea what she said, Clarke finds a little laugh escaping her too, just at the interaction alone. It’s striking how much she looks like him. Dark waves only a shade or two lighter than his, olive skin sprinkled with freckles, those same warm brown eyes. She has Clarke’s own heart-shaped face and rounder features, but at first glance, she’s all Bellamy. 

Clarke’s thoughts are broken by the sound of the front door opening, Miller and Jackson walking in none too subtly. 

“The favorite uncles have arrived, the party can officially start!” Miller yells, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Jackson looks sheepish at the outburst but smiles at Miller all the same.

“Hey, we got you a present too, Clarke. It was a last minute thing,” Miller tells her. She understands the joke when she sees Cillian walk through the door, a gift bag for Lucie in his hand. “Found the stray in the driveway, thought you might want to take him in,” Miller continues. 

“Oh shut up,” she scolds Miller, giving him a playful shove as she makes her way to Cillian. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Cillian apologizes after quickly giving her a chaste kiss. “I had to go into the office this morning.”

Clarke shakes her head at him. “Don’t worry about it, you didn’t even miss cake.”

\--∞--

After dinner they send the kids outside with the piñata, leaving Miller and Jackson in charge as their punishment for the late arrival. Most of the adults go outside with their drinks to watch, now bringing their sweaters and pullovers with them. Arkadia is a small city on the western coast, about half way between Los Angeles and San Francisco. It stays relatively warm, but it gets chilly enough in December that they usually need layers. 

Soon enough, it’s just Bellamy and her putting away the leftovers and doing the last of the cleaning. 

“How’re you holding up?” he asks her as he follows her into the kitchen with dirty paper plates and napkins. 

Clarke downs the last of her wine in response and gets a small chuckle from Bellamy. 

“That good, huh?”

“This many kids in the house. It’s _ a lot _. I don’t know how anyone does it.”

“I don’t think anyone _ does _ do eight kids anymore, unless they’re on a reality show.” 

Clarke just laughs at that, glancing out the window at the party. The sun is finally starting to make its way down, dusk in full bloom. 

“Do you think you want more?” Bellamy asks after a beat. “I mean, someday, anyways,” he clarifies. 

Clarke is slightly taken aback by the question. In all these years, they’ve never discussed it. Which is rare because they’ve discussed just about everything. _ Well, not everything_, Clarke reminds herself. 

“Oh.” She pauses to think. “I think so. I didn’t like being an only child, it was kind of lonely. I’d like for Lucie to have a little brother or sister. It’d be nice to have what Octavia and you have always had.”

Bellamy just nods, a strange look on his face. He turns to throw away the plates and Clarke doesn’t catch enough of it to draw any meaning from it. 

“What about you?” she asks after a moment of silence, wrapping pizza in tin foil. The air between them somehow feels loaded in an odd way that she can’t place. 

“Kids?” Bellamy asks. “Oh, I don’t know. With the right person, maybe someday, I guess. Seems too far away to really consider.”

“Six years old though, can you believe it?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject. He’s smiling, looking out the window from behind her. Just like that, the strange tension in the room seems to dissipate. 

Clarke shakes her head at him. “No, I can’t. I won’t be able to take it if she keeps growing.”

“Me neither,” he murmurs, eyes still on the kids. 

“Clarke, go enjoy the party, you’ve been running around all day,” he urges, pulling his eyes from Lucie so that he can look at her. 

“It’s fine, I’m almost done,” she counters, putting a plate of leftovers in the fridge. 

“Clarke,” he repeats, more insistent this time. When she turns from the fridge, she nearly runs into him, not realizing he had moved closer to her. He holds her by her upper arms to steady her and laughs lightly at her clumsiness. His proximity gives her the smallest rush of goosebumps and she steps back before her heart does something stupid like start pounding. “Clarke, I’ll finish up, go.” 

“Okay, okay,” she concedes, half because she suddenly needs to be out the small kitchen with him. 

She walks out onto the deck, sliding the screen door shut behind her. The sky is now a beautiful orange; dusk has always been her favorite time of day. With the breeze comes a hint of sea salt that will always smell like home to her. 

“Hey, baby,” Cillian greets her as she walks up to him. He wraps an arm around her waist, the other hand holding his IPA. Despite it being colder outside than it was in the kitchen, Clarke realizes her goosebumps are gone. She credits Cillian’s warmth for the change and doesn't let her mind explore it any further.

\--∞--

By seven, they’re finishing up presents in the living room. They just need to get to the cake before eight when the kids’ parents start arriving to pick them up and then Clarke is in the clear. She heads to the kitchen to help Aurora and Abby set up the cake, leaving both Bellamy and her dad to record Lucie opening every present on their iPhones. 

Clarke is laughing with Aurora and Abby about Bellamy’s insistence on buying Lucie a top of the line telescope, a thinly veiled excuse to buy one he’s had his eye on for years, when they hear a knock at the front door. The three women exchange confused glances as they make their way to the living room. They aren’t expecting anyone else and most of their friends simply walk into the house without bothering to knock. 

Clarke walks into the living room just in time to see Harper open the door. She gasps when Octavia walks through it, looking like Lara Croft in tight jeans, a blank tank top, black boots and a simple braid holding her hair back. 

Aurora runs to her first, pulling her into a tight hug the way that only mothers can. Clarke’s feet carry her forward as if on instinct, pulling Octavia in just as Aurora lets her go. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” Clarke whispers, breathing in the familiar scent of her old friend. They haven’t seen Octavia in over a year, the last time she had a break from her deployment. Even then, she’s barely spent a total of one month home in the time since she left for training after their high school graduation. 

“Bell?” Octavia asks expectantly once Clarke lets her go. It’s then that Clarke notices Bellamy is standing a few feet away, seemingly shell-shocked by Octavia's presence. Clarke can see the emotion behind his eyes though and catches Octavia’s small smirk at having succeeded in thoroughly surprising him. 

Bellamy takes two long steps forward and pulls her in for a hug, cradling her head like a child. “We’ve missed you, O,” he whispers, quiet enough that Clarke doesn’t think anyone besides Aurora and her could have heard him. 

Everyone is mostly quiet, if only because it feels like such an intimate family moment to observe. Octavia catches onto this once she breaks away from Bellamy and takes a look at everyone's faces.

“What is this, a funeral or a birthday party?” she asks. It breaks the ice and everyone laughs, those who know her standing up to hug her. 

“I knew you couldn’t stay away from us,” Jasper teases as he hugs her tightly. Monty, Wells, and Harper are right behind them until it’s become a bit of an awkward group hug. Bellamy and Clarke stand a foot away, just smiling at the scene. Clarke squeezes Bellamy’s arm, a small, unspoken show of comfort familiar to them. 

_ This is overwhelming, but I’m right here, like always_, it seems to say. He smiles down at her in acknowledgement. 

“Let me in!” Lucie yells, fighting her way through the group hug towards her aunt. Everyone backs away to let the birthday girl through. 

“Auntie O!” she nearly screams, hugging Octavia’s thigh tightly. 

“Hey, birthday girl,” she greets, the most genuine smile on her face as she easily picks her up. “Sorry for stealing your thunder, kiddo.”

“That’s okay,” Lucie says with a seriousness that makes the adults laugh. 

Given the small number of times Octavia has made it home, Clarke can count on one hand the number of times Lucie and Octavia have spent time together in person. Lucie probably doesn’t remember half of those times given how young she was. Still, Octavia has always made an effort to Facetime her once a month and sends her postcards and letters whenever she can. In turn, Lucie sends pictures and her own letters with the help of Bellamy and Clarke, now that she’s started learning to read and write. 

The rest of the night goes by in a blur, Octavia’s presence bringing a new excitement to the party, even for those who don’t know her and for the kids who don’t really understand what’s going on. There’s a buzz in the air, in part due to the surprise itself. The other half is purely Octavia, still the electric personality she’s always been. 

Clarke brings out the galaxy cake, clad with six candles shaped like rockets, the flames making it seem as if they’re crashing into the cake. Everyone takes pictures of Lucie with the cake, including one they do every year with Bellamy and Clarke on either side of her. Every year Bellamy takes Clarke’s hand behind the chair and gives it a gentle squeeze. He never lets go until the photo is over, and she misses the pressure of it everytime he does. It’s one in a long line of small moments between them that they’ll never examine too closely. 

Much like with the pizza, most of the adults wander back to the living room to eat cake once the kids have settled. Clarke pokes her head in and smiles when she sees Raven and Jasper talking with Cillian. They’re a hard group of friends to get to know given how close they are, but she thinks Cillian is slowly working his way into it. He looks up and catches her eye, smiling softly at her as if to confirm he’s doing alright on his own. Clarke thinks there really could be a future there. She hasn’t thought that for a long time, at least not since Lexa. The way that ended hadn’t left her with much hope. 

What surprises her even more is when she sees Lincoln and Octavia chatting alone in a corner. She knows Octavia could talk to a wall but Lincoln is a man of few words. Clarke met Luna and him through the art gallery and this is their first time at an event with the entire group present. So far, Octavia is the only one that Clarke has witnessed draw him out of his shell.

When she feels someone come up behind her, she knows its Bellamy before he even speaks. It’s like she can sense his very essence after all these years. She hopes she feels that way about Cillian someday. The anxious side of her worries she won’t find that with anyone else, but she stops the stray thought before it wanders too far. She’s become good at that over the years, compartmentalizing her feelings. She tucks them away for safekeeping, the ones that do her family no good, only taking them out in lonely midnight moments after one drink too many.

She turns her head towards Bellamy to see that his gaze is also on Octavia and Lincoln. 

“She said she’s home for good,” Clarke prompts. 

“Yeah. I asked her why she didn’t tell us she was coming home and she just said she wanted it to be a surprise,” he tells her, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. Clarke furrows her eyebrows at that. 

“You think there's more to it than that?”

Bellamy shrugs and runs the hand not holding his plate of cake through his hair. “No, probably not. I just feel like she’s...off or something.” Clarke looks back at Octavia, who's laughing at something Lincoln is saying. 

“Maybe it’s just because she’s been gone for so long. Maybe we all need an adjustment period.”

“Yeah, I’m probably overthinking it,” he sighs. “You’re probably right.”

“Always am,” she answers cheekily. She sees his little smile when he nudges her playfully as he makes his way to the living room and sits down next to Miller. 

\--∞--

It’s about ten minutes after eight when Clarke shuts the front door on the last of the parents picking up their kids. 

“And that’s a wrap,” she sighs, collapsing into the armchair that Cillian is sitting in. He moves over for her and wraps an arm around her. Everyone is tired, sprawled in various seats and across the floor of her living room. They finish off the last of their drinks as conversation flows effortlessly from one topic to the next. 

Clarke smiles at Lucie who is snuggled between Bellamy and Octavia on the floor, looking like she’s trying her absolute hardest to stay up with the adults. Her eyes keep drooping though and by the way she snuggles in closer to Bellamy every few minutes, Clarke knows she’ll be out soon. 

They chat for almost an hour longer, about anything and everything. They tease Wells about his new girlfriend Sasha who no one has met yet, ask Lincoln and Luna about their work at the gallery, and let Monty and Harper gush about Jordan who sleeps peacefully in Harper’s arms. 

Eventually they start talking about Eligius, the corporation that their small city is reliant on. Clarke’s dad is the Chief of Environmental Engineering there and both Raven and Monty work there now too, as an aerospace engineer and chemical engineer. Cillian, a doctor who works with Jackson and her mom, also did a sabbatical there doing biochemistry research. 

“I just don’t understand why Diyoza is making cuts to _ that _ program in particular,” Raven complains.

“She’s facing pressure from the board, Reyes,” Jake counters. “McCreary has more support than her right now, which probably won’t end well for any of us.”

“It’s true- I heard my boss saying the same thing last week,” Monty adds. Raven just sighs and takes another sip of her beer. 

“Alright kiddos,” Jake says, standing and stretching. “I think the old folks are going to head out,” he tells them, starting to collect their stray plates, bottles, and glasses.

“Dad, you don’t have to do that,” Clarke insists, immediately untangling herself from Cillian and hopping up to help him. 

“Oh, your mom's going to take forever to finish that glass of wine anyways,” he teases. Abby swats at his leg from where she’s sitting cross legged on the floor.

“Hey, I’m going to put her down,” Bellamy tells Clarke, standing up easily with Lucie still in his arms. 

“I’ll help,” Octavia volunteers. Bellamy smiles at her and the two of them disappear down the hallway towards Lucie’s bedroom after saying their goodbyes. 

This prompts everyone else to stand and help clean but Clarke insists that they have it handled. 

“Too many cooks in the kitchen,” she insists. Everyone says their goodbyes and filters out fairly quickly, worn out from the kids and sugar. Soon it’s just Abby and Aurora left chatting at the dining room table and Jake and Clarke cleaning up in the kitchen. 

“That was a nice party, sweetheart,” Jake tells her, a soft smile on his face. 

“An eventful one too. I can’t believe Octavia is really back for good.”

“I can’t imagine how Aurora has been able to deal with her gone for so long. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t see you, if you were in a war halfway around the world,” Jake tells her, planting a kiss on the top of her head. It fills Clarke with an overwhelming affection for her father, for her parents in general. Her parents who have always been there for them. 

“Things look like they’re going well with Cillian and you,” Jake prompts as he loads the dishwasher and Clarke rinses out the beer bottles to put in the recyclables.

“Yeah, I think we’re in a really good place. He’s good to me and everyone else is warming up to him.”

“Slowly, but surely,” she adds with a chuckle. 

“Well the delinquents are a hard group to impress,” Jake says with a laugh. Clarke smiles at the nickname he’d given them years ago, somehow fitting for such a diverse group of people who came together under an array of different circumstances, somehow becoming as close as they are now. 

“Bellamy said he’s a good guy,” Jake adds, his voice taking on a strange tone. Clarke rolls her eyes at that. 

“Oh, well if _ Bellamy _ approves, I guess I should propose tomorrow, huh?” she teases. 

“Hey, hey, settle down,” he chides. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Clarke sighs, thinking about that. A small, petty part of her wishes he didn’t like Cillian, wishes that he would give some sign that he cared Clarke was seeing someone. These are the immature feelings that pop up every now and then, making her feel like an 18 year old kid again instead of the nearly 25 year old mother that she is.

“He’s right though, he is a good guy,” she says finally. “It's because he sees how good he is to Lucie,” she adds. 

“And how good he is to _ you _,” Jake tells her. Clarke nods but doesn’t say anything else, unsure of what to say. 

“Alright, I think my job here is done,” Jake tells her five minutes later, wiping his hands on the dish towel. He’s walking out of the kitchen to grab Abby when Clarke calls to him. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Thanks for ordering me the Hawaiian pizza. I know no one else will eat it,” she laughs. 

“Oh. That was Bellamy who ordered the pizza tonight.” 

Jake walks away before she can respond, but she swears she saw a smirk on his face as he turned back around.

\--∞--

After her parents and Aurora leave, Clarke goes to check on Bellamy and Octavia when she realizes it's taking a long time for them to put her already sleeping daughter to bed. Her heart flutters when she quietly peaks her head in and sees that somehow all three of them have managed to fit on Lucie’s small bed. Lucie is snuggled between the both of them, listening with drooping eyes as Octavia quietly reads her one of her new books. 

Clarke watches them as if in a trance until Octavia finishes the book and Lucie’s eyes are closed, her mouth opened slightly as she dozes. Bellamy and Octavia gently untangle themselves from her and tuck her in. Clarke joins them and kisses her gently on her forehead before the three of them make their way out as quietly as possible. 

“Suddenly she was wide awake again after she brushed her teeth and changed,” Bellamy tells her in a quiet voice as they make their way to the front door. “She was insisting she could go back to the living room until we bribed her with a story.”

“Bribing her with a book, she really is your kid huh, Bell,” Octavia laughs. “Anyways, I’ve better head out, it’s been a long day.”

“I bet,” Clarke says, nodding. 

“Do you need a place to stay until you’re settled, O?” Bellamy asks. 

“Nah, thanks but I’m staying with Mom right now. My counselor said it’s best I don’t live alone for the time being.”

Clarke watches as Bellamy’s face morphs into concern, and Octavia must see it too.

“Bell, I’m fine. Everyone is assigned a counselor upon return and they all suggest not living alone in the beginning. It's no big deal.”

“You need a ride?” he asks instead, decidedly not pushing the topic.

“I’ve still got the good ol corolla,” Octavia says with a laugh and Clarke joins in.

“I can’t believe it still runs,” Clarke adds, remembering all their adventures in the little red car when they were just kids. 

“Yeah, especially after we pulled it out of the ditch,” Bellamy adds, disapproval in his voice. Still, they don’t miss his small smirk as he says it. 

“Yeah, yeah, my big brother, the savior,” Octavia teases, pulling him into a hug. She hugs Clarke too and then she’s gone again. With her no longer in the room, Clarke feels like her returning was a dream or mass hallucination. It’ll take getting used to, having her back in their daily lives again. 

Bellamy sighs, walking over to the couch and collapsing onto it. Clarke pins up her shoulder-length hair the best she can given its length and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. Her legs are tucked under her so that she’s facing Bellamy, arm propped up on the couch back and holding her head up. 

“Long day,” Bellamy murmurs. 

“A good day, though,” she replies with a sigh. 

Clarke loves these moments with Bellamy. She loves her family and her friends indefinitely, but somehow these moments are the only ones where she feels totally at ease. He’s been her best friend for so long now that he just feels like home. Maybe it’s the simple fact that she has a partner in her fierce love of Lucie, someone she knows whose love for her daughter matches hers completely. They would both do anything for her. She knows she’s lucky in that way. When you get knocked up at 18, it's a rare case that the father even sticks around, let alone commits to being a father in every sense of the word. 

They chat easily for over an hour, their words tired and lazy, their voices light and quiet. They laugh about how crazy the kids were, discuss Octavia’s return and the ring Jasper bought Maya. Eventually they start gushing about how adorable Jordan is.

“It feels like just yesterday that Luce was that little,” Bellamy sighs, sounding a little wistful. 

“We had _ no _ idea what the hell we were doing,” Clarke laughs.

“Do we now?” he counters, and they laugh because of how true that is. They have no idea what they’re doing every time they face a new hurdle. Yet, somewhere along the way, it stopped being so scary. They realized that they would be facing everything as a team, and the fear became less paralyzing. 

“We’ll figure it out like we always do, together,” Bellamy adds, his voice suddenly a bit more somber. It’s as if he read her mind. Clarke simply nods and smiles at him, not trusting her voice to remain steady when he says things like that. 

“Oh,” Clarke says, after a beat. “I almost forgot to tell you. Lucie will be at my parents’ next Friday. I have a date with Cillian and they offered to watch her.” 

Bellamy shakes his head at that. “You didn’t need to ask your parents, Clarke. She can come to my place Friday night.” 

“The bar is always so busy on Fridays,” she counters, thinking of how Bellamy always ends up working alongside his staff as an extra set of hands. 

“Emori will be happy to pick up an extra shift, she’s been asking for more hours.”

“Oh, okay. Then she’ll be with you Friday. You’ll pick her up from school?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies quickly, his tone unusually clipped although Clarke can’t imagine why. They’re silent for a long awkward moment, Bellamy seemingly far away despite sitting right beside her. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you, I really just figured the bar would be too busy,” she tries when she realizes he isn’t going to say anything else. His gaze softens when he looks back at her, probably realizing how short he was with her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I just…” he trails off. Clarke raises her eyebrows at him, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s just been a long day,” he says finally. “I think I’m going to head out, it’s getting late.” He stands and comes over to her end of the couch, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading for the door. 

“Night, Clarke,” he tells her. 

“Night, Bellamy,” she says softly as he shuts the door behind him. Clarke waits until she hears him pulling out of the driveway before she brings her hand to the part of her cheek that Bellamy’s lips were just pressed against. She gives herself the smallest moment before shaking her head at herself and heading to bed.


	2. The Night We Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, thanks so much for the comments and kudos! I had so much fun writing this chapter and I'm really excited for this story in general. I think it's going to be roughly 20 chapters, but I'll know for sure when I finish the outline. Enjoy!

**11 Years Ago**

Clarke Griffin is 13 years old when her parents make a decision that she’s sure will ruin her life. 

“I’m not doing it,” she argues, arms crossed. 

“You are, Clarke. Our decision is final.” Abby’s tired of having the same argument for the third time, but she still isn’t budging. She’s one of the few people whose stubborness is a match for Clarke’s.

“Clarke, honey. It’ll be a great way to meet new people. Branch out a little,” Jake tries, always the optimist. 

Clarke glares in response. “I’m terrible at sports. You think that junior high girls watching me fall down while I try to kick a ball around will _ help _ me make friends?”

“Oh Clarke, it’s junior high soccer, not the Olympics. Don’t be so dramatic,” Abby sighs. 

Clarke goes to her room after that, fuming but silent. She’s never been one to yell when she’s upset. She prefers to shut people out and paint or sketch through her feelings until she’s calm. Wells and her dad are usually the only ones who can get through to her when she’s like that. Unfortunately, that’s exactly her parents’ point. 

A month before Clarke is set to start the 8th grade, her parents sit her down in their living room to have a “talk.” Clarke’s mind goes through dozens of situations that they might need to discuss with her. They’re getting a divorce. Her mom is pregnant. Her dad is dying. Nothing prepared her for the moment they informed her that she was joining the girls’ soccer team. 

She understands they have good intentions, she really does. She’s the only child of two parents who are successful in their careers. This means they work a lot, which incidentally means Clarke is alone a lot. Sure, growing up an only child in a house like that had felt lonely at times, but she got used to it. She was _ comfortable. She _ didn’t care. Yet, when her parents witnessed her choosing to spend all her time with Wells or alone making art in her room, they grew concerned. 

Her dad tells her it’ll be exciting to step outside of her comfort zone. 

_ Yeah, right _, she scoffs, closing her door so hard it’s nearly a slam. Clarke isn’t buying it. If there’s one thing she loves, it’s her comfort zone. 

\--∞--

Clarke is a lot of things. Being an only child left to her own devices has made her independent. For the same reason, she can admittedly be a bit controlling and bossy. She’s also very serious and doesn’t have the easiest time letting loose. Above all, she’s always right. It doesn’t surprise her that she’s right about being terrible at soccer too.

Clarke struggles through the entire season. At first she’s just out of shape, plain and simple. Pre-season has her taking ice baths and passing out at 9pm every night. She eventually gets into better shape, slowly but surely. Still, that doesn’t help with the problem of her being the least coordinated girl on the team. No amount of practice can make up for her genetics in that department. 

By mid-season, Clarke is no longer embarrassed to spend the entire game on the bench because she knows at least from there, she can’t let down the entire team by messing up on the field. Her parents don’t seem to care whether she plays or not, showing up to support her at every game. Clarke admits that they put their money where their mouths are. She would even be touched by the gesture if they weren’t the reason she was stuck there in the first place. 

Clarke can admit that the other girls on the team aren’t so bad. At least, they aren’t cruel like she expected. One girl, Harper McIntyre, even goes out of her way to include Clarke in everything, from team dinners to hanging out at the bleachers before practice. Clarke isn’t very receptive to these types of invites, but Harper is consistent, which helps. 

Then there’s Octavia Blake. Octavia is a spitfire - there isn’t a better word for it. She lacks Harper’s gentle touch, but she’s twice as stubborn and insistent that Clarke joins them when Clarke tries to make excuses as to why she can’t. She doesn’t always ask nicely, but she always makes sure Clarke’s included, whether she wants to be or not. Sometimes, that’s exactly what Clarke needs.

Octavia is also easily the best player on the team, a natural athlete that makes everything that Clarke struggles with look completely effortless. During one game towards the end of the season, Clarke takes the field after one of their teammates twists an ankle and they have no choice but to put her in. Her parents cheer loudly from the stands, but Clarke wants to throw up. 

It’s a close game and right at the end, Clarke kicks the ball in the wrong direction, allowing the opposing team to easily score. Thanks to Octavia scoring another goal about three minutes later, they’ll eventually go on to win the game. Still, that doesn’t stop the girls from the other team from taunting her and laughing at her from the other side of the field. Clarke wants to disappear into the ground when that happens, because she can’t even argue with them. All the insults they fling at her are true. 

Before Clarke even realizes what’s happening, Octavia is marching up to the girls and yelling at all of them. Clarke’s eyes are saucers as she listens to Octavia throw expletives at them that Clarke wouldn’t dare utter in front of any adult, let alone a crowd. It takes a yellow card and Zoe Monroe pulling her back to their side to stop Octavia. 

“Octavia, you didn’t have to do that for me,” Clarke tells her once she’s back. “I screwed up, it was my fault.”

Octavia just puts an arm around her like they’re the oldest of friends. “Clarke, we’re one team. If you screw up, we screw up. If those bitches mess with you, they mess with _ all _ of us.”

She’s back on the field before Clarke can react, leaving her speechless. Clarke’s never been part of a group like that and the sentiment makes her smile. It’s their second to last game by the time Clarke comes to the realization, but she thinks maybe joining the soccer team wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

\--∞--

Octavia is on the younger end of their class, having a late October birthday whereas Clarke already turned 13 the previous January. The weekend that Octavia turns 13 is the week after soccer has officially ended. Clarke assumes the camaraderie was limited to the field, so she’s more than surprised to receive an invitation for a birthday sleepover at Octavia’s house. At first Clarke thinks Octavia must have simply invited the whole team. She’s shocked to learn she only invited a small group of five girls, and Clarke Griffin is one one of them.

Clarke is nervous the entire week leading up to the sleepover. Sometimes she talks to Octavia in the hallway or classroom, but she still eats lunch with Wells and mostly keeps to herself. She’s afraid Saturday night will be painfully awkward and even considers making up an excuse as to why she can’t come. In the end, her parents are so over the moon about the invite that she feels like she has to go. 

Wells, however, is delighted at the prospect of Clarke at a sleepover and teases her endlessly. 

“Wells, I’m serious. I have no idea what girls talk about.”

“I don’t know, maybe you’ll talk about boys and paint each other’s nails,” he laughs. 

“This isn’t a movie!” she snaps at him. “They’re going to think I’m so boring,” she groans. 

On Thursday, Clarke discovers that Harper is one of the other girls invited. It’s then that she decides she might be a little bit excited about it. 

\--∞--

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?”

“Dad!” Clarke groans. “I’m not five, please stop.”

“It’s just that it’s your first sleepover.”

“I sleep over at the Jahas’ house all the time.”

Jake just laughs at that. 

“Ugh, whatever. Pick me up at 10 tomorrow. Do _ not _ be late,” she warns. 

Clarke hears him telling her to have fun but she’s already shutting the door of his BMW and looking up at the Blakes’ house. It’s close enough to Clarke’s house that they ended up in the same school district, but the Griffins live in large house in a development built just five years ago, whereas the Blakes’ house is a small ranch style house that Clarke can tell has been around for many decades. Still, it’s well taken care of, recently painted and boasting a small flower garden in the front. 

Just as Clarke lifts her hand to knock on the door, it swings wide open and makes her jump.

“Clarke!” Octavia greets her, buzzing with excitement. 

“Hi, Happy Birthday!” Clarke hands her a wrapped gift and follows her into the house. The other girls are already there, which Clarke suspected. She purposely showed up thirty minutes late so there wasn’t any chance of her being the first one there.

The girls all greet Clarke from where they’re gathered in the living room to the right of the front door, chatting and watching Clueless with bowls of chips and popcorn scattered around them. 

“Let me give you a tour of the palace,” Octavia says, her voice heavy with mock grandeur. Octavia turns left of the door and brings her to the kitchen. It’s old, clearly not updated since the 70s, but Clarke decides she loves it. It’s warm and quaint in a way her own isn’t, all soft brown tones and small, colorful personal touches. There’s a vase of sunflowers on the kitchen table next to a window that overlooks the backyard and Clarke imagines it would be the perfect place to draw for hours on end. 

“Mom, this is Clarke,” Octavia announces, speaking to a dark-haired woman with her back to them. She’s bent over the counter frosting what Clarke assumes is Octavia’s birthday cake. 

When the woman turns around, Clarke realizes she’s striking in the same ways Octavia is. Her eyes are dark where Octavia’s are green and her features are just slightly rounder, but the resemblance is clear. 

“Hi honey, nice to meet you,” she tells her, wiping her hands on her apron and extending one to Clarke. 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Blake,” she says, taking her hand. The woman waves her off when she says that, as if the formality is absurd.

“You can call me Aurora, everyone does,” she assures her, turning her attention back to the cake. The name is beautiful and strong. Clarke doesn’t even know her, but she thinks that the name suites her, just like Octavia’s. 

“Is Bellamy going to be here with the pizza soon?” Octavia asks. 

“Yeah, hon. He finishes work-” Aurora checks her watch, “right about now. He’s going straight there from work and then he’ll be here with you guys for the night.” 

“Okay, cool,” Octavia says, moving through the kitchen and waving at Clarke to follow her. 

“Who’s Bellamy?” Clarke asks as they enter a dim hallway. 

“Oh, he’s my brother. My mom has to go to work so he’s watching us tonight.” Octavia makes air quotes around the word watching, clearly disagreeing with the sentiment that anyone needs to watch them. In reality, Clarke isn’t sure if her parents would even be okay with there not being an actual parent here, let alone them being left unsupervised. 

_ What they don’t know won’t hurt them _ , she thinks. _ They wanted me to come to this thing anyways _. 

“How old is your brother?” she asks. 

“He’s 18, he just graduated in June. He’s kind of an ass, but he’s cool.” 

Before Clarke can consider what that means, Octavia is opening the door to her bedroom and showing Clarke her CD collection and the makeup she managed to steal from her mom.

\--∞--

“You’ve seen Clueless, right Clarke?” Monroe asks her when Octavia and her return to the group. 

“No, I actually haven’t,” she admits, waiting for them to mock her.

Instead there’s an uproar with a lot of giggles, but it’s clear they’re excited and the laughing isn’t at her expense.

“Okay, let’s just start it over. I missed some anyways and Clarke _ has _to see it,” Octavia announces. No one argues with her because it’s her birthday and...it’s Octavia. 

“You’re going to _ love _ it,” Harper gushes. “Paul Rudd is just-”

“Stop, you’ll spoil the ending!” Trina yells at her. Clarke finds herself laughing alongside them, enjoying the careless silliness of the moment in a way that’s new to her. 

“So, when is Bellamy getting here?” Mel asks, breaking into a another giggle. 

Octavia catches Clarke’s confused look. “They all have a crush on my brother,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “I’m not sure why, he’s an idiot.”

When Octavia turns her attention back to the TV to rewind the movie, Mel softly elbows Clarke. 

“You’ll see,” she whispers with a smirk.

\--∞--

Thirty minutes into the movie, who Clarke presumes is Bellamy walks through the front door with three large pizzas stacked on top of one another. The other four girls turn to watch him walk in, suddenly shy after talking through the movie. 

“Took ya long enough,” Octavia says as she stands, strutting over to him and taking the boxes out of his hands. 

“You’re welcome O!” he calls after her as she disappears into the kitchen. Clarke watches him take off his jacket and shake off the rain, now coming down steadily outside. She tries to get a good glimpse of him, but the entryway is dark and he disappears into the kitchen after his sister. 

“Bell, what took you so long? I’m going to be late!” Aurora’s voice carries from the kitchen. 

“Grounders always takes forever, it wasn’t my fault,” he defends, sounding exasperated. A minute later Aurora emerges from the kitchen and throws a jacket over what Clarke thinks is a waitressing uniform.

“You girls have fun! Octavia has my number, but let Bellamy know if you need anything,” she tells them, voice a little breathless.

The girls repeat a chorus of thank yous and goodbyes as she disappears into the night. 

Clarke tries to get a grasp on this house, how different it is from hers or the Jahas. Parts of it feel chaotic or rough around the edges, which makes Clarke feel a little anxious. Yet, there’s something fun and exciting about it too. Something warm that she isn’t used to, even though her parents _ are _ warm, nice people. Maybe it all comes down to the simple moment in the kitchen when she was told to call Octavia’s mom Aurora. _ Formalities _. They don’t seem to value them here, which Clarke finds freeing. 

“Are you guys coming?” Octavia calls. They all make their way to the kitchen where Octavia is putting the pizzas on the table and Bellamy is setting out paper plates and napkins. 

“Pepperoni, supreme, veggie.” Octavia points out each pizza, giving Harper a pointed look when she announces the veggie. “We can eat in the living room while we watch the movie.”

Everyone is suspiciously quiet as they pile their pizza slices onto their plates, which Clarke suspects has to do with Bellamy standing in the corner eating a slice of pepperoni.

“Oh. Bellamy, this is Clarke,” Octavia says as an afterthought, clearly having forgotten they haven’t met. 

“Hi,” Clarke says, determined not to act as silly as the rest of the girls. She risks a glance up at him while she picks up a slice of supreme, trying to assess if the other girls are right.

He’s certainly objectively attractive in the way that both Octavia and Aurora are, but he looks different from both of them. His skin is a shade darker than Octavia’s and freckles are dusted across his face, so subtle she nearly misses them. In the end, Clarke decides that he’s cute in a way that all older teenage boys are, all muscle and arrogance, but she doesn’t think he’s anything special.

“Oh yeah,” he says with a mouthful of food. “You’re the bench girl. Afraid of getting those shiny new cleats muddy, Princess?” 

Clarke’s face turns red as she realizes he must have been at the games, watching her on the bench or even worse, in the games. 

“Oh can it, Bellamy. Don’t be an ass,” Clarke hears Octavia snap, as if from a distance. 

When Clarke looks up at him with what she’s sure is shock on her face, he just smirks at her. The smug look on his face is infuriating and anger washes away her initial embarrassment. 

“And what are you then? A good little knight guarding a bunch of thirteen year olds on a Saturday night? How exciting for you,” she snaps. She’s a bit shocked at herself, once the words are out of her mouth. 

Clarke hears the other girls snicker, but Octavia is curled over herself laughing. 

“I just knew you had bite, Griffin,” she tells her once she catches her breath. The rest of the girls start laughing harder and Clarke smiles, a little pleased with herself.

Bellamy looks legitimately annoyed and rolls his eyes at them before heading down the hallway towards the bedrooms. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Octavia assures Clarke, clearly noticing her apprehension about the shift in his mood. “He’s not used to girls doing anything more than fawning over him. It’s about time someone put him in his place.”

\--∞--

Clarke is three pieces of pizza in as the closing credits of Clueless roll. All the girls lay around lazily, chatting about boys in their class.

“Atom is _ so _ cute,” Octavia gushes. “I’m going to give him my number at the football finals.”

Clarke thinks Atom is alright, but she’s not sure what Octavia thinks is so special about him. 

“You’re so bold,” Harper tells her, admiration in her voice. “I wish I could just go up to Jasper and give him my number, but I can barely have a conversation with him.”

“Jasper Jordan?” Clarke asks, even more surprised by Harper’s interest in him. 

“Yeah, he’s _ so _ funny and really sweet,” Harper tells her, clearly not offended by Clarke’s surprise.

“I don’t know, he’s kind of weird,” says Monroe. 

“I know, but he’s _ funny _.”

“I’m friends with Jasper,” Clarke tells her. Okay, it’s a bit of an exaggeration. 

“Really?” Harper asks, the excitement clear in her voice.

“Well, him and Monty are friends with my friend Wells,” she clarifies. “But Jasper and I were lab partners in advanced Biology last year, so sometimes Monty and him eat lunch with us.”

“Oh my god,” Harper exclaims, sitting up straighter. “You have to mention me next time you talk to him, see what he says.”

Clarke laughs a little. “Okay, I will, but you _ can _ just come eat lunch with us next time he’s there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course. Why not?” 

Harper looks like she isn’t sure what to say and after an awkward beat, Trina answers for her. 

“You and Wells always seem so exclusive, like you don’t want others to sit with you.” She doesn’t say it meanly, just as if it’s a known fact. 

Clarks gapes at that. All these years of thinking no one else wanted to sit with them and the rest of their classmates are thinking they _ want _ to be alone. 

“No, that’s not true,” Clarke starts to explain. Octavia cuts her off before she gets any further.

“So are you and Wells like...a couple?” she asks, eyes full of mischief. Clarke scrunches her nose at that. 

“Of course not! That’s gross, he’s like my brother.”

Octavia shrugs, unphased. “I think he has a crush on you.”

“_ Definitely _ not,” Clarke assures her, the thought alone making her uncomfortable. Before they can interrogate her any further, there’s a knock at the door. 

“Bell-” Octavia starts to call. 

“Yeah, got it, O,” he cuts her off, coming through the kitchen. 

Bellamy opens the door and a black guy sporting a beanie walks in. He looks about Bellamy’s age.

“Why aren’t you ready?” he asks Bellamy after looking him up and down. Bellamy’s in a t-shirt and joggers, wearing a pair of black, square-framed glasses that make Clarke want to giggle. He looks more like a nerd than the cool guy in the kitchen earlier. 

“I told you, man. I’ve got to watch them, I can’t go.” 

The guy finally seems to notice the group of girls staring at them, making no attempt to hide how they’re listening in on their conversation. 

“You don’t need a babysitter, right O?” The guy asks her. 

Octavia raises her eyebrows at him, as if he’s stating the obvious. “Yeah, I tried telling them that. Good luck, Miller,” she says, standing up. “Anyone want more Pizza?” she asks the girls. The girls all shake their heads and Octavia shrugs, as if it’s their loss. 

The guy, Miller, grabs Octavia as she walks by and tries to give her a noogie.

“Cut it out!” she yells at him, pulling away. Still, Clarke can see the hint of a smile on her face. 

“Aw, the big teenager is too cool for us now,” he teases.

“Always have been!” she calls, walking into the kitchen. 

Miller turns his attention back to Bellamy. “C’mon, go get dressed,” he tells him, clearly unphased by Bellamy’s explanation. 

“Dude, I really can’t go,” he sighs. 

“Bryan’s in the car, c’mon. Just come for an hour or two. _ Roma _ is going to be there,” he tells him. Clarke thinks she must be special to Bellamy by the way Miller says her name. She imagines someone beautiful with a name like that.

“Yeah, tell me about it. If I could go, I’d be there, but I’ve got this,” he says, gesturing to the girls as if they’re a chore. 

Miller throws his head back in frustration and groans but appears to finally give up. 

“O, come here!” Miller calls her. When she appears from the kitchen with two more slices of pizza, he pulls a wrapped box out of his jacket. “For the birthday girl,” he says, giving her a dramatic bow. Octavia takes it with a huge smile on her face. Clarke can already tell Octavia is one to appreciate presents. She doesn’t try to be humble about it, that’s not who she is.

“Thank youuu,” she sings, giving him a hug before returning to them with the pizza. 

Miller leaves after that but Bellamy comes back to the living room after grabbing another slice of pizza, again without a plate. 

“When do you want to have cake, O?” he asks, leaning against the wall as he eats it. 

“Hmm. Like in an hour,” she tells him.

“Actually, let’s do presents now,” she says after a moment of consideration, a big smile on her face.

“Before cake?”

“It’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want,” she tells him.

“You always do anyways,” he laughs. 

They gather around Octavia who is surrounded by her gifts. For her excitement about receiving gifts, Clarke admits that she’s gracious about all of them and thanks the girls multiple times. She opens make-up kits and gift cards to Hollister and American Eagle. From Miller, she receives a pretty necklace with a butterfly charm. Clarke starts to feel self-conscious about her own gift, fidgeting as they get closer to opening it. Octavia saved hers for last. They’re going to think she’s being cheap or that it’s just plain stupid. She should have just bought her CD or something.

Clarke watches nervously as Octavia finally unwraps it, awe on her face as she pulls the frame out, its back to the rest of them. 

“Clarke,” she gasps. “Did you do this?”

Clarke just shrugs, trying to play it off as not a big deal even as her cheeks turn red. 

“Clarke, this is _ amazing _,” she gushes, finally turning it around for everyone else to see. 

Everyone else joins Octavia in complimenting her, raving about how talented she is once they see the small painting. Clarke painted Octavia on the soccer field, looking like a fierce and victorious warrior. Octavia turns the painting back around to admire it again, smiling at the image of herself. Clarke takes the opportunity to sneak a glance at Bellamy, who remains silent. He looks a little surprised, but doesn’t offer a comment, let alone a compliment. 

When they sing to Octavia shortly after, Clarke keeps an eye on Bellamy. She admits she’s intrigued by him, not necessarily in the way the other girls are. She just can’t get a read on the teenage boy who goes to all his little sister’s soccer games and who’s willing to host her birthday party, even when he had the opportunity to bail for better plans. Octavia would have been more than willing to have the house to herself. It’s Bellamy who lights the candles on her cake and brings it out to them as they sing, smiling and looking at Octavia like she’s the sun. 

\--∞--

The birthday party is a turning point for Clarke and Octavia who quickly become best friends. Clarke begins spending a lot of time at the Blakes’ house and Octavia likes to come to the Griffins’ house too, gushing about their house and how nice her parents are. Their friendship is unexpected, really, since they don’t have a lot of the same interests. Clarke is a bookworm with a love of art, Octavia an athlete more interested with boys and makeup than her homework. Yet, they seem to balance each other, bringing out in the other what each needs. Clarke calms Octavia and makes sure she does her homework and for the most part, stays out of trouble. Octavia brings out a more wild side of Clarke, much to Wells’s dismay, and encourages her to take more risks and try new things. 

Clarke keeps her word about Harper joining them at lunch and before long, Wells, Monty, and Jasper are eating lunch everyday with the other soccer girls and classmates they never spent a lot of time with. Clarke occasionally goes to the mall with Harper and spends her study halls with Trina working on math problems. Clarke never imagined she would have as many friends or that she would enjoy it so much, but she finds that 8th grade has been the best year yet. 

Still, things change in high school, certain people dropping off from their large group. Trina starts dating Pascal and spending all her time with him, until they rarely see her. Monroe’s family moves to San Francisco and others like Mel join sports teams and clubs with separate cliques until they naturally grow apart.

Maybe it’s simply because they all happen to have lunch together freshman year or maybe it’s because the people remaining are the ones who make a greater effort to stay friends. Whatever the reason, their group is eventually chiseled down until it consists of only Clarke, Octavia, Harper, Wells, Jasper, and Monty. Despite their different classes, clubs, and sports teams, they all remain close throughout high school, a constant in Clarke’s life while at Arkadia high. 

They have their ups and downs throughout their four years. Jasper’s crush on Octavia becomes awkward given Harper’s feelings for him and Octavia’s disinterest in him. During their sophomore year, Wells confesses to Clarke that he has feelings for her, leading to an awkward few months of silence before they eventually grow back together. Jasper and Monty get caught with weed which causes a lot of drama, and they all have to band together to support Wells when his mom dies after a year-long fight with cancer in the middle of their junior year. Through all their ups and downs, they only grow stronger. While Clarke knows that college may change things, she thinks she’ll always be able to count on them when it matters.

The Blake house becomes another constant in Clarke’s life during those four years. Of everyone, Octavia is who Clarke remains closest to, especially after Wells’s feelings for her complicate their friendship. Clarke sleeps over her house more times than she can count and when Aurora is home, she doesn’t seem to think twice about her constant presence.

Clarke slowly learns more about the Blakes over the years she spends with them, like how Aurora works three jobs to support their family. She learns Bellamy and Octavia have different dads, neither of whom are in their lives anymore, and that Bellamy helped Aurora raise Octavia. 

Bellamy is another person who becomes a constant in Clarke’s life, although it’s not by choice and they aren’t anything close to friends. Still, he becomes a familiar fixture in a passive way that Clarke doesn’t give much thought to. The tone of their relationship is set at Octavia’s birthday party and all interactions after that are limited to them taking verbal swipes at each other. The first year she’s friends with Octavia, the insults they fling at each other are fairly cruel given that neither seems to care about holding back. Somehow over the years, the fire in them fades and it becomes more akin to bickering. By the time Clarke is 16, they’re so used to each other that it simply feels like a game that neither wants to give up because they both find it a little too entertaining. 

Everything Clarke knows about Bellamy is through Octavia, given that she’s never had a conversation of any substance with him. She assumes the same goes for his knowledge of her. She learns Bellamy works full-time as a security guard during the day and as bartender at night, sometimes working odd construction jobs. 

Octavia tells her that he thinks he’s saving up to help her pay for college, but that she’ll never accept the money. Octavia doesn’t want to go to college and thinks he should instead. She learns Bellamy is pretty smart and is a bit of a history nerd, which she didn’t really need Octavia to tell her. She would have figured that out on her own given the amount of times she’s seen Bellamy reading some non-fiction book about the Roman Empire or walked into their house to find him watching a History Channel documentary. 

One thing she does learn on her own is how much Bellamy loves his mom and Octavia. Much like the way he hosted her birthday party all those years ago, she’s never once seen him hesitate to support either of them when they need it. He grocery shops for the family with his own money, which she knows because she hears Aurora admonishing him for it. He just brushes her off and it’s clear he’ll do it again. Anytime Clarke is with Octavia and they need a ride, Bellamy will show up in a heartbeat. 

Eventually, Bellamy is there so often that she simply becomes comfortable with him. When Clarke wakes up before Octavia on countless Saturday mornings and sits at the kitchen table sketching, Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to sit down across from her and read the paper as he eats a bowl of cereal. He never says anything to her, but sometimes she catches him glancing at her drawings out of the corner of his eye, just like she occasionally sees him looking at the new painting of Octavia that Clarke gives her every year for her birthday. He would never dare compliment her, but Clarke feels smug about his curiosity anyways. 

Bellamy is there when Octavia and her go on their first double date at 14, being the one to drive them and their dates to the movies. He’s also there to witness Clarke’s panic about the date while Octavia tries to do her makeup. 

“Bellamy, say something helpful,” Octavia commands, exasperated with Clarke. Bellamy just rolls his eyes, a smirk itching at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t overthink it, Clarke,” he says finally, with a shrug. “The guy certainly isn’t.”

“Helpful,” Octavia says sarcastically. Somehow though, it actually does help her, making her feel a little more in control of the situation. She would never admit that though and rolls her eyes at him instead. 

When they’re 16, it’s Bellamy they call after they get too drunk at their first party, too afraid to call her parents or Aurora. Thankfully Aurora is at work that night, so Bellamy drives them home and orders them a pizza without incident. He’s also the one who holds Clarke’s hair back, muttering about how dumb she is, as she throws up all the pizza an hour later. It’s Bellamy that makes them hangover pancakes and coffee in the morning, not for the last time. Still, they aren’t _ friends _. Not anything close to that.

\--∞--

**7 Years Ago**

The weekend after Thanksgiving and two months shy of his 23rd birthday, Bellamy is packing up his life and preparing to move to a new city for the first time in his life. A month ago, Miller’s dad managed to connect him with a security firm that would pay a decent amount more than what he was currently making at the firm in Arkadia and his side construction jobs combined. He’ll still bartend, but two jobs would certainly be better than three. The catch was that the job offer was for a company located in Sacramento. 

Nearly a five hour drive from Arkadia, he almost shot down the offer right away. It’s Octavia’s senior year and although he logically knows his mom and her will be fine, he feels apprehensive about leaving them behind. In the end, he did decide to take the job. His mom and Octavia are right - it would be plain stupid not to. He can put more money into Octavia’s college fund even if he has to be far from her. 

That’s how he finds himself packing up the old red corolla that Octavia and him share. When she found out that he would be taking the car, she threw a fit until Clarke reminded her that they can use her own car. Bellamy can admit that he owes Clarke that much - she’s like an Octavia whisperer when it comes to talking his sister off a ledge.

Bellamy can also admit that after all these years, he still doesn’t have a handle on Clarke Griffin. When he first saw the girl who sat on the bench at the soccer games, the first thing he noticed was that she was sporting one of the most expensive brands of cleats and that they looked brand new. Here was this girl, who didn’t even play, wearing cleats like that. Octavia was the best on the team and wearing ones from the Goodwill. It wasn’t fair how spoiled rich kids like that got everything, even what they didn’t need.

Before Octavia’s birthday party, Bellamy had asked her why she was inviting this new girl. 

“She’s cool and doesn’t care what anyone thinks,” Octavia told him, as if it was that simple. 

Then he met her and she was even worse than he expected. What kind of girl comes to someone’s house flinging insults at their hosts? But somehow over the years, he simply got used to her like one gets used to anything else in life. 

He could admit that at the very least, she was entertaining once his initial irritation faded. It was one thing to be book smart, which she certainly was, but she was also clever, which he begrudgingly grew to appreciate. Mostly though, he respected her friendship with Octavia. He always worried about Octavia, especially her going into high school. His little sister had always been all fire, making decisions and only thinking about them after the fact, much like him. 

Clarke Griffin was a gift in the way that she seemed to tame Octavia when him and their mom couldn’t. Not to say that Octavia didn’t bring out another side in Clarke as well. Clarke already had plenty of fire, but Octavia brought out the more reckless side of her. He witnessed as much when he picked them up from parties or detentions. Still, it wasn’t such a bad thing in his opinion. He thinks Clarke needed to loosen up a little anyways; she was always wound too tight. 

“Looks like you’re really making progress with that box, O,” he deadpans as he walks by his sister, sprawled on the couch with her phone to her face. The box she was supposed to be carrying to the car sits on the ground next to her. 

She grunts in response and Bellamy just shakes his head at her as he continues outside with his own box.

“C’mon, O,” Bellamy hears Clarke scolding her, right behind him with her own box. Clarke is a hard worker for a rich kid, he’ll give her that. 

Bellamy wipes his forehead with the back of his forearm, the weather unusually warm for November. He looks up to see Clarke coming out of the house with her box. She’s got her hair pulled back in a pony tail with no makeup, wearing an Arkadia High t-shirt and leggings with running sneakers. He realizes he might actually miss her, at least a little bit. It’s hard to remember a time she wasn’t simply around and he’s grown to like how she keeps him on his toes. 

He stares at her a little too long, not realizing she’s struggling with the box until she’s half way to the car. 

“Thanks,” he tells her as he hurries to meet her, taking the box. 

“I think O’s box is the last one,” she tells him once she hands it over. He starts rearranging the boxes and bags to fit the last one and notices Clarke hanging back, looking unusually unsure of herself for Clarke Griffin.

“Classic,” Bellamy laughs. “O was in charge of one of five boxes and it’s the only one that hasn’t made it to the car.”

Clarke laughs fondly, both of them unsurprised by it. There’s an almost awkward beat of silence after that as they stand at the open trunk of the car, saying nothing. 

“You know,” Clarke says finally, swallowing mid-sentence. “O is really going to miss you around here. Not sure what she’ll do without you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, noticing the strange look on Clarke’s face. She looks a little sad and something about that tugs at his heart in a surprising way. “I’m going to miss,” he swallows, “Octavia, too.”

Clarke nods and looks away from him as he shuts the trunk. 

“A lot more than I thought,” he adds, turning to look at her again. 

Her phone rings loudly, piercing the odd moment between them.

“This if Finn, sorry,” she tells him, turning away to answer it. Bellamy heads back into the house after that, wondering what it will be like to live in a world where he doesn’t see Octavia everyday. He finds himself wondering that about Clarke too. 


	3. It Comes in Waves, the Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a filler and was supposed to be the first half of one chapter, but I figured it was better to get this and the next flashback chapter out while I finish up the second half. Hope you guys enjoy, comments and kudos always appreciated!

Bellamy blinks his eyes open the best he can, still heavy with sleep. Without his contacts, he can barely make out the blurry image of tousled blonde hair on the pillow next to his. The room is shrouded in shadows, the gray sky outside waking as slowly as he is. 

When he hears the shrill sound of his ringtone, he realizes what woke him up at such an early hour. 

“Bellamy,” Bree groans, swatting at him. “Would you turn that off?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his phone on the night stand next to him. He nearly silences it, assuming he accidentally set an alarm, when he sees Clarke’s photo flashing across the lock screen. She’s mid-laugh, a picture of joy, as she adjusts a _Happy New Year_ headband on Lucie. It was taken by Bellamy just last year, but an all too familiar sinking feeling in his gut reminds him that this year will probably be different.

“Clarke?” he answers on what was probably the last ring. His voice is hoarse with sleep.

“Oh, thank God,” she answers him, voice breathless. 

Bellamy sits up straighter, suddenly wide awake with his heart in his throat. “Clarke? What’s wrong? Is Lucie okay?” Bellamy glances over at Bree, who stirs beside him but seems otherwise unconcerned. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry,” she quickly assures him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I totally overslept and Dante is coming to the gallery today, could you bring Luce to school?” It’s clear she’s put the phone on speaker and is multitasking. Probably brushing her teeth by the sound of it. 

“Yeah, of course,” he tells her, quickly climbing out of bed. “On my way.”

Once he hangs up, he puts on his glasses so the world is no longer blurred shadows and pulls a pair of joggers and a fresh t-shirt out of his drawers.

“Bree,” he calls, pulling on his pants.

“Hmm,” she groans, but doesn’t move.

“Bree!” he repeats, louder this time and becoming a little irritated. She finally sits up, eyebrows raised and reflecting the same level of annoyance on her own face.

“I’ve got to pick up Lucie, lock up on your way out.”

She throws him a mildly sarcastic thumbs up before laying back down on her side and closing her eyes again. 

“I mean it, don’t forget this time,” he warns, grabbing his keys off the night stand.

“Bellamy, I’ve got it,” she assures him, eyes still closed.

Bellamy makes his way through his small two-bedroom apartment that sits on top of the bar he owns. It isn’t much, but its both homey and convenient.

He’s proud of The Dead Zone, how popular it’s become as a neighborhood pub. It certainly isn’t what he had in mind for himself when he considered what he might be when he was growing up, but those dreams slipped away long before Lucie, dissolving into the background of his childhood just like any other toy or book that he would inevitably pick up for a last time. Most importantly, he makes a good enough living to support Lucie. That’s really all he can ask for. 

Bellamy combs a hand through his hair once he climbs into his black Ford pickup that he bought a few years back. His attempts to tame his curls without water or a brush are a lost cause per usual. Driving just a little too fast, he makes it to Clarke’s house in seven minutes flat. 

\--∞--

Clarke is applying mascara as quickly as she can manage without smudging it when she hears the front door open. 

“Morning!” Bellamy calls from the front of the house. She should have warned him not to speed, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since she called.

“Hi!” she yells from the bathroom, abandoning the mascara and attempting to find the dry shampoo she shoved somewhere under the sink. Once she finds it, Clarke heads into the kitchen and finds Bellamy making coffee, going through her cabinets with the ease of someone who lives there. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, wearing sweats and his glasses with his hair sticking up in odd places. Her throat feels tight as she imagines another life where he’s making coffee in _ their _ house, an intimate ritual repeated morning after morning. 

“Hey,” she says, snapping herself out of it and tousling the dry shampoo through her hair. “I just woke Lucie up, but you know she handles mornings as well as you do, so…” 

His back to her, Clarke watches him shake with laughter as he turns on the coffee pot. “Hey, I’ll have you know,” he defends, turning around, “I-.” He stutters a bit, eyes raking over her so quickly she nearly misses it. 

“I was already up when you called,” he finishes, recovering quickly. 

Only then does she consider the fact that she’s wearing boxer shorts and a loose muscle tank with no bra, the long arm holes only stopping mid-waist. She hopes he doesn’t catch the blush that floods her cheeks all too easily. She shouldn’t feel self-conscious around him, God knows he’s seen every bit of her. Still, she finds herself resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

“Right, _ sure _,” she quips sarcastically.

"Well, I'm better than Octavia."

"Low bar," she chuckles. An awkward beat passes and Clarke finds herself feeling flustered. She blames it on the chaotic morning and the lack of coffee in her system.

“Go get ready, I’ve got her,” he prompts after a moment, looking at her like she’s crazy. 

“Right,” she says, shaking her head at herself as she walks back towards her room. “Thank you, Bell!” she calls after him, an afterthought.

As she digs through her closet Clarke listens with a smile to Bellamy down the hall, trying to get Lucie out of bed and dressed for school. It’s a struggle every morning, their daughter always half asleep no matter how early she goes to bed the night before. 

As she searches for something to wear, she quickly realizes that she’s long past the point of needing to do laundry. It’s not the day to pick the wrong thing to wear given the Wallaces’ propensity for elegance. She settles on a classic black pencil skirt paired with a silky blush-colored blouse. She pairs it with her black pumps that she wears nearly everyday. 

Heels clicking on her hardwood floors, Clarke quickly collects her wallet, keys, sunglasses, and other belongings scattered on various surfaces throughout the house as quickly as possible. When she’s ready, she finds Lucie eating cereal at the breakfast counter in the kitchen as Bellamy expertly braids her hair back. He does a much better job than Clarke can ever manage. 

“Morning, baby.” She kisses Lucie’s cheek as she walks past them towards the coffee pot. Lucie just grumbles in reply, still not quite awake. Clarke’s about to reach for the coffee pot when she sees that Bellamy already put some in a to-go tumbler for her. “Thank you,” she sighs, picking it up.

“No problem,” he assures her, focused on tying Lucie’s hair. 

“Okay, Luce. You remember you’re staying at Dad’s tonight, right? He’s going to pick you up from school.”

Lucie nods, shoving another spoonful of cereal in her mouth like a zombie. Bellamy pats her head as he finishes her hair and shoots Clarke an amused smirk at their daughter. Clarke just shakes her head, letting out a little laugh. 

“Okay, I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” she sighs, checking her watch. She gives Lucie one more kiss and thanks Bellamy before she’s rushing out the door.

\--∞--

Clarke lets out a heavy sigh as she wades through a stack of prints, tipping back her tumbler to get the last drop of coffee. It’s nearly 9 and she only has a few more minutes to gather herself for Dante’s visit.

Clarke is the curator of just one of Dante’s galleries, which happens to be the only art gallery in Arkadia. She considers herself lucky that he only owns one in Arkadia and spends most of his time at his more extravagant New York and Los Angeles locations. Most days she loves her job, just not on days when he pops in for a visit. It’s not that Dante is a bad boss, per se. He cares a lot about all his galleries and the art that goes in them, which she thinks is admirable. The problem is when he brings his son Cage around, which she’s sure he will today. He seems to be grooming him to take over the family business, which Clarke knows will be a disaster. In addition to generally being an asshole with several sexual harassment claims against him, he also inherited none of the interest in or talent for art that his father has. 

_ Damn nepotism, _ she thinks. 

Clarke hurries to the entrance a few minutes later. The Wallaces care enough about etiquette that they love to feel as if they’re honored guests, even in their own business. 

“Clarke, dear,” Dante greets her, walking up the steps to the gallery. 

“Dante, welcome back,” she smiles, shaking his hand warmly. Cage comes up behind him, his smile always slightly predatory. 

“Clarke,” he nods. He doesn’t so much as shake her hand, but still manages to make her feel uncomfortable just by the way his gaze slowly and purposefully rakes over her figure. She represses a shiver. 

“So, tell me, Clarke. What are the highlights for the next six months? I’m afraid I probably won’t make it back before then given our Miami exhibit opening in a few months.” 

“Well Anya is doing another exhibit, which we expect will draw a lot of crowds given her last few,” Clarke explains, walking through the main hall. It’s empty in a ghostly way, as they’re between exhibits and preparing for their annual holiday charity gala. Dante nods along as they walk, hands clasped behind his back. 

“We have a new artist, Lincoln Woods, in a few months. I was looking at his newest pieces just now and it’s really impressive work. He has an inspiring background, having had-”

“That’s great, Clarke,” Cage cuts her off, clearly uninterested in the source of the art. “How is the preparation for the holiday exhibit coming along? You know that’s a huge publicity boost for us.” He says it so shamelessly, unaffected by the fact he cares only about their image. Nevermind all the good the charity brings to their community. 

“Well, you know how this year we’ve shifted gears and started working with Luna Atwater from the community center that works with at-risk youth,” she reminds them. She speaks slowly, fairly certain that neither have made an effort to familiarize themselves with the details of the exhibit that Clarke routinely sends them in email updates. Dante nods at her to continue.

“I’m meeting with her on Monday and she’s going to bring the artwork that the kids have been working on. There will be a couple different exhibits with the kids’ work,” she explains as they enter her office. “There will be drawings of what the kids want most, drawings of what the holidays mean to the kids, pieces like that. I think it’s going to be really great and draw a lot of money in to give back to the organization.”

“Right,” Cage muses, picking up a picture of Lucie on her desk as if he owns it. Clarke balls her hands into fists at her sides, doing her best not to snap at him. “And how much money are _ we _actually making after all this?” he asks, eyes on the frame still in his hand. 

“Well _ we _ agreed,” she says, nodding to Dante, “that the community center would keep 80%.” 

Cage finally looks up, raising an eyebrow at his father in disbelief. “You agreed to that? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive, Dad?”

Dante just shakes his head at him, like he’s a child with a lot to learn instead of the selfish adult he is. “Oh Cage, it’s Christmas. Lighten up,” he waves him off, accepting the copies of Lincoln’s prints that Clarke hands him. 

Cage takes one more look at Clarke’s photo before setting it back on her desk. “I always forget you’re a mother, Clarke. With a figure like yours, you’d never suspect.” Her skin crawls at his words. When she looks at Dante, she finds him absorbed in the prints, flipping through them eagerly.

“Right, well. I am,” she replies shortly, attempting to keep her voice professional. 

“These look great,” Dante tells her as he hands the prints back, seemingly unaware of her exchange with Cage. “I look forward to hearing how the exhibit goes, I think it’ll be something fresh.” 

\--∞--

Clarke sips on her coffee from her table for two at the window inside the cafe, absentmindedly watching the people who pass by on their way to and from lunch. Sanctum is a colorful and cozy place with just enough small tables to handle the lunch rush in Arkadia’s business district. It’s decorated for the holidays already, garland and lights strung along the walls, and people are blowing in with the wind outside. It’s as cold as it gets in Arkadia, overcast and cool enough to be considered sweater weather, but never cold enough to require a heavy parka. 

“Hey,” Raven greets, sliding into the seat across from her. Clarke somehow missed her walking in, lost in her own thoughts.

“Hey to you.”

“Sorry I’m late. Sinclair has me on this new project McCreary ordered and it’s an absolute pain in my ass. Did you already order?”

“Nah, just coffee.”

“So how was the devil and his spawn today?” Raven asks, opening the menu.

“Dante’s not _ that _ bad.” She’s not sure why she feels the need to defend him. Maybe so she feels less shitty about working for him. 

Raven gives her a skeptical look. “Just because his son is even worse than him doesn't mean he's not an entitled asshole."

“Fair point,” Clarke sighs. “I’m just happy Dante didn’t think twice about giving most of the proceeds for the holiday gala back to the community center. Let’s pray he sticks around for a while longer, I’m not sure I’d able to work for Cage.”

“Well, when you’re on the streets, my Goddaughter and you are welcome at my place anytime,” Raven smirks. The waiter comes over to take their order before Clarke can respond. Raven orders a coffee and they both order their usual chicken salad and turkey club sandwiches, despite perusing the menu for ten minutes.

“Tempting offer and all,” Clarke laughs once the waiter leaves. “I think I’ll try to keep earning a paycheck, if it’s all the same to you.” 

“So how’s Cillian? He seems to fit right in with everyone these days.”

“He does, doesn't he?” Clarke says with a smile. “He’s great, I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Raven raises her brow at that, as if to remind Clarke that she’s forgotten something obvious.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You introduced us, we will forever be in your debt, blah blah blah,” Clarke concedes. Raven loves to take credit for being the one to introduce them.

It was an Eligius 4th of July BBQ and a week after Raven and Wick had ended disastrously. Raven dragged Clarke to the BBQ with her, insisting she couldn’t bear to go alone, only to end up drunk off Monty and Jasper’s moonshine within the first hour. Cillian was finishing up his sabbatical at the time and somehow Clarke found herself spending the entire night in a corner talking with him. He was charming and funny, not to mention gorgeous. She couldn’t believe it when he asked her out, but the rest is history. 

Well, not really history given how many times Raven brings it up. 

“_ That’s _better,” Raven smirks. “He’s coming to the gala, right?”

“Yeah, of course. He’ll be there, hospital emergencies excluded.” Clarke pauses. “Actually, he’s just…” Clarke shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“Oh, you can’t pull that shit with me, Griffin. Spit it out.”

Clarke sighs. “I feel like I’m being over-dramatic and making this up in my head, but whenever I bring up the gala, he gets all nervous and just...he’s acting _ strange _ . I don’t even have an example, he’s not _ doing _ anything. I just...I just sense something is off,” she shrugs.

“Hmm.”

Clarke can see the wheels in that brilliant head of hers turning, assessing the problem. 

“Maybe he doesn’t want to go and doesn’t know how to tell me,” Clarke continues, spiraling a little now that she’s voicing her concerns out loud. “Maybe Lucie’s party and all the other stuff I drag him to is getting to be too much and he needs space.”

Raven shakes her head. “_ Or _ , maybe he’s nervous for a _ good _ reason.”

Clarke furrows her brow in confusion, not understanding at all what Raven could be referring to.

Raven sighs impatiently and holds up her left hand, pointing to her ring finger.

Clarke is very aware that her eyes must grow comically wide at the gesture.

“No way,” she sputters. “It’s only been six months.”

“Well, I feel like things move fast when there’s a kid in the picture. I’m just saying, it’s not totally out of the realm of possibility here. All I know is that he doesn’t look at you like someone who needs space.”

“Well, he wouldn’t do it _ there _ anyways. It’s way too public, in front of all of us, in front of strangers. He knows that isn’t me.”

“Yeah, that would be a lot. In front of Bellamy, too,” Raven muses. 

For the second time in five minutes, Clarke has no idea what Raven is referring to. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I just...I don’t know. I feel like it would be hard for him to watch that, you know?”

“I don't know. Bellamy wants me to be happy,” Clarke insists, growing a little irritated. “He likes Cillian. He would tell me if he didn’t.”

“No, I know. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. Bellamy and you though, it’s a little more complicated than the simple case of a friend wanting another friend to be happy. You can see that can’t you?”

“No, I can’t. If you’re trying to say there’s something between us, you’re out of your depth. Bellamy doesn’t see me like that, he never has.”

“I love _ Cillian _,” she tacks on a beat later. 

Raven throws her hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

Clarke sighs. “Sorry, I know I’m overreacting. It’s just, that’s not how it is. Bellamy truly doesn’t see me that way. He’s the guy that watched me puke after too many drinks when I was 16. On more than one occasion. He’s seen me fat and hormonal, not to mention the image of me in the delivery room, sweaty, bloody, and screaming, that’s probably seared in his brain.”

Raven gives her a disbelieving look. “Okay, you mean he was the guy who _ held your hair back _ , many times over,” she says, beginning to count off on her fingers. “The guy who watched you carry his kid, looking like a goddess, might I add. The guy who watched you be a warrior while you gave birth to _his_ daughter. The guy who-”

Clarke cuts her off before she can keep going. She doesn’t want to hear these things and has spent too many years burying those hopes. She knows Raven means well, but at the end of the day, these things hurt too much to hear. “I’m _ not _ saying those moments weren’t meaningful and I know Bellamy loves Lucie and I. It’s just, he doesn’t see me as _ more _ than that. As more than family. ”

“Oh, is that how Lucie came to be? Bellamy not seeing you as more than that?” Raven laughs.

Clarke shoots her a glare, trying not to blush. It’s ridiculous how even the memory of that night still effects her, no matter how she pretends to brush it off when anyone brings it up.

“Okay, I’m done, I promise,” Raven chuckles, picking up a paper napkin and waving it like a flag. Clarke can’t help but laugh with her after that.

“Well, anyways. Cillian is taking me to dinner tonight, so maybe it’ll be fine and the strangeness is all in my head,” Clarke tells her, trying to guide the conversation back to where it began. “But enough about me. Who’s this 'Miles Shaw' that makes you smile every time his name pops up on your phone screen?”

Raven mock gasps at her as the waiter comes back, setting down their plates.

“Clarke Griffin, you think _ I’m _ the nosy one?”

Clarke just shrugs. “That’s not an answer, Rae.” 

She takes a huge bite out of her sandwich as Raven launches into a story about the new coworker who just transferred in from Detroit. She can’t help but smile when she talks about him, even as she assures Clarke she’ll never date another coworker again. 

\--∞--

Bellamy walks down the elementary school hallway with his hands in his pockets and head down. He isn’t in the mood for making small talk with the other parents, especially the moms. It’s his least favorite part of picking Lucie up from school.

“Dad!” he hears her call from down the hall. He looks up to see her running towards him with her small backpack bobbing up and down on her shoulders and a drawing in her hand. This, however, is his favorite part of picking her up from school. 

He wraps an arm around her as she runs into him, hugging his side. Lucie takes his hand a moment later and starts happily babbling about art class as they walk down the hall. They’re almost in the clear, make it as far as the front entrance, when he hears Roma calling him from down the hall. Bellamy considers ignoring her, but he doesn’t want to set a bad example for Lucie. Besides, he can already tell Roma is jogging to catch up and it’s only a matter of time.

“Hey, Roma. How are you?” he asks, turning around.

She slows down when she sees she got his attention but walks at a brisk pace to catch up with him. He notices that she’s dragging her son along with her, a bit faster than he can manage, and has to stifle a laugh at the image of it. 

“Bellamy! We haven’t seen you at any PTA meetings lately,” she tells him, her voice breathy as she finally catches up with them. “Or Clarke,” she tacks on as an afterthought.

“Well, you know how it is. We’ve both been pretty busy at work and with the holidays coming up…”

“Sure, sure,” she nods. “Well, we should set up a playdate with Lucie and Owen. Maybe after the craziness of the holidays is over.”

Bellamy nods, sparing a glance at Lucy who doesn’t look too pleased at the prospect of a playdate with Owen. “Yeah, we’ll have to check our schedules, right Luce?”

Lucie nods but doesn’t say anything further. 

“Sure, sounds good. Well, in the meantime-”

“I’m sorry Roma, we’re actually in a bit of a hurry today,” he cuts her off, already backing away. 

“Sure, no problem. We’ll talk soon. It was great seeing you, Bellamy!”

Bellamy waves half-heartedly at her, already turning around to head outside.

“Why are we in a hurry?” Lucy whispers conspiratorially when they make it out the doors. 

“We’re always in a hurry when we don’t want to talk to people,” he whispers back. She giggles in response and his heart swells at the sound of it.

“What have you got here?” he asks as they make their way to his truck, nodding at the drawing still in the hand he isn’t holding. 

“It’s my drawing for the gala, but you can’t look. It’s a surprise.”

“Oh, okay,” he chuckles, letting go of her hand so she can climb into the back seat. 

“We’re going to Nana’s to see her and Aunt O for dinner tonight,” he tells her, starting up the car. “Are they allowed to see your drawing?”

Lucie is quiet while she seems to consider it at length. “Maybe Aunt O. But that’s _ it _,” she insists. Bellamy breaks into an effortless smile at that. 

\--∞--

“Nana!” Lucie calls, running into the kitchen as soon as Bellamy opens the door. She doesn’t take off her shoes, jacket, or backpack like he’s reminded her to do at least a hundred times. 

“Hey, mom,” Bellamy greets her, walking in behind Lucie a moment later. Lucie releases Aurora from her hug and starts unpacking her backpack at the kitchen table. Bellamy gives his mom a kiss on the cheek. “Where’s O at?”

“I had her go pick up the groceries for dinner,” she tells him, drying the last of the dishes she was working on. 

“Mom, I told you I’d run out and get them,” he chides. 

Aurora just rolls her eyes at him and swats him with the dish towel. “She wanted to go, Bell. I think it’s good for her to get out of the house, run some errands. She’s getting used to everything again.”

Bellamy nods, familiar anxiety over his sister bubbling to the surface. “How’s she been?”

“Good,” Aurora nods. “It’s going to be a process. She needs to figure out what her next steps are.”

“Well, her next step is college. That’s why she left, right? Because she wanted to pay for it by herself?” He can’t help the trace of bitterness that slips into his tone. 

“Bellamy, don’t start. She’s got to make her own decisions.”

Bellamy doesn't get a chance to respond. The front door opens, effectively ending their conversation. Bellamy has a lot more questions but he supposes Octavia is the one to ask anyways. 

“O!” Lucie yells, jumping out of the kitchen chair. She isn’t used to seeing her aunt this often. Or at all, really. Bellamy loves to see her excitement over it. 

“Hey, kiddo,” she greets her. “Come take one of these bags for me.”

Lucie happily obliges, which Bellamy raises an eyebrow at. “You’ll have to teach me your tricks, she doesn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm for chores with Clarke and I.”

“Well I’m shiny and new,” Octavia laughs. “It’ll fade soon enough.”

Bellamy walks over to help Octavia unpack as Aurora grabs the colored pencils that they keep at the house for Lucie. 

“She’s going to be an artist like Clarke,” Octavia observes when Aurora hands the pencils to Lucie. She already has a page picked out in one of the new coloring books she got for her birthday. 

“You kids shoo,” Aurora tells them, coming back to the counter.

Bellamy and Octavia both start to protest, insisting they can make dinner.

“No, you’ll be in my way,” she scolds fondly. 

They give up and bring mugs of coffee to the table to sit with Lucie who’s too lost in the coloring page to pay them much attention. 

“How are you?” Bellamy asks once they sit down. He never imagined he’d feel awkward around Octavia, but somehow he does. He’s never loved her more, but he still can’t shake the feeling he isn’t sure he knows her anymore. 

“I’m okay.” She traces the rim of her mug with her finger, as if nervous. “It’s definitely weird being back. It’s hard to get used to,” she says, finally looking up to meet his eyes. 

Whatever she sees when she looks at him changes her tone. “It's great to be back though. I feel awesome, I’m really excited. Especially about spending more time with this one,” she tells him, poking Lucie in her side. Lucie giggles but her focus doesn’t stray from her coloring. There’s suddenly a bravado back in her voice that he recognizes from her youth. He’s just not sure it’s as genuine as it once was. 

“That’s great, O. Although, it’s okay if it’s not easy. You know that, right?”

Octavia rolls her eyes at him. “Bell, you worry too much.”

“I worry the right amount.” He wants to ask her about her life, but somehow it feels invasive given that her life has been war for five years. He’s not sure if that’s a conversation for a brother or her counselor. He’s not really sure what the right thing to say is at all and finds himself wishing Clarke were here with them. She’s always been more level-headed about these things and would know what the right thing to say was. 

“So what’s the deal with Clarke’s friend Lincoln?” Octavia asks. 

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her and can’t help the little smirk the question drags out of him.

“Oh shut up,” she snaps. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I don’t know him well. He’s an artist and has an exhibit coming up this spring at the gallery. Clarke said he’s had a rough past but he’s been on the straight and narrow for years.”

“Yeah, he told me he volunteers at the community center with Luna,” Octavia adds.

“Well, you know more than me then.”

“Guess so,” she says, smiling. “He was pretty cool. I’ll have to get his number from Clarke.”

Much to Octavia’s entertainment, Bellamy just hums in response. He doesn't know Lincoln well enough to know how he feels about him in his sister's life, especially during such an adjustment period.

“Speaking of men, what’s the deal with this Cillian guy?”

Bellamy gives Lucie a quick glance and finds her still engrossed in the coloring book. He doesn’t want to talk about Clarke’s dating life around her but she seems to be enraptured in the same way Clarke gets when she sketches or paints, the outside world fading into the distance. 

“He seems like a good guy. I don’t know him all that well, but he’s good to Lucie and Clarke.”

Now it’s Octavia who hums. He doesn’t miss how she glances behind him at Aurora, who he’s sure is listening to every word of their conversation while she makes dinner.

“What is that look for, O?” he sighs, already tired given where this conversation is headed. 

“You’re really fine with this? It’s the first real relationship she’s been in, unless we count the disastrous 3 months with Lexa.”

“I’m okay with whatever makes Clarke happy.” Well maybe _ okay _ is a strong word, but he has to accept it. It’s about Clarke and her happiness, not about him. He can’t be selfish with her, no matter how much he’ll always want her. The last time he was selfish, they ended up with Lucie. Obviously she's the best part of both of their lives, but that’s not the point. Not really.

“Bell, I just think if you-”

“Enough, Octavia,” he cuts her off, shooting an obvious look at Lucie to make it clear he’s not discussing this in front of her. 

Octavia sighs in response. “Just don’t be a martyr for once, Bell. I want you - you _ and _ Clarke - to be happy. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I was wrong when I-”

Bellamy slides away from the table quickly, the screech of the chair across the floor cutting through the calming atmosphere in the kitchen. “I’ve got to use the bathroom,” he tells her, heading down the familiar hallway and away from the questions he can’t answer or face. He doesn’t wait for her to respond. 

\--∞--

They sit down to dinner gathered around his mom’s broccoli-chicken casserole that was a staple during his childhood. Lucie has just finished telling Octavia about the Ancient Greece unit in her history class. 

“You know your dad loves that stuff," Octavia tells her. 

“I know. Dad tells me all the stories, even the boring ones.”

Octavia’s laugh causes her to nearly choke on the bite of casserole in her mouth and Bellamy can tell Aurora is biting down her own smirk.

“You love those stories,” he tells Lucie.

“_ Some _of them,” Lucie corrects. 

“Luce, what do you think about a playdate with Owen next month?” Bellamy asks, changing the subject.

Lucie studies her food at length, seemingly hesitant to answer.

“Who’s Owen?” Octavia asks.

“You don’t have to play with him, Luce. That’s why I’m asking,” Bellamy tells her, ignoring Octavia.

“I like Owen,” Lucie finally answers, mashing up her casserole with her fork. “But Mommy doesn’t like his mom." 

“Who’s his mom?” Octavia asks. 

“Roma,” Bellamy answers reluctantly, despite his better judgement.

Octavia’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Why doesn’t your mom like her, Lucie?”

“O,” Bellamy warns, weirdly feeling like they're talking about Clarke behind her back. Still, he can't help but admit he's intrigued. 

Lucie shrugs. “I don’t know why, but after she talks to her, she shakes her head and mutters things under her breath after.”

Octavia snickers at that and Bellamy isn’t sure what to think. He wasn’t aware Clarke had any opinions on Roma, good or bad.

“Well, I’ll talk it over with Mom if you want to play with him. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it,” he decides.

It’s only a moment later when a loud clatter crashes through the small kitchen. 

Bellamy’s head pops up from his plate at the same time he sees that Octavia jumps out of her seat. She squeezes the table so hard her knuckles are white.

“O-” he starts at the same time that Lucie leans over to pick up the glass of water she must have knocked over by accident.

“Don’t move!” Octavia yells at her, cutting off Bellamy. 

Lucie’s eyes grow wide with fear, never having heard Octavia yell at anyone, let alone at her. What must be only a few seconds seems to stretch on for eternities while everyone remains quiet. 

Octavia takes a deep breath as she releases the table. “I’m sorry, I’m...I’m not feeling well. I’m going to go lie down.” Her eyes remain glued the floor as she disappears from the kitchen, refusing to meet any of their glances.

“I’m sorry,” Lucie says, voice cracking, once Octavia leaves. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, hey,” Bellamy shushes her, coming to pick up the glass off the ground. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assures her, rubbing her back. “Aunt O just isn’t feeling well tonight.”

Lucie nods but seems unconvinced. 

“Should we check on her?” he asks Aurora quietly. 

She shakes her head at him. “Let’s give her a little space before we do.” 

The three of them pick at the rest of their food in silence for the remainder of dinner, but nobody seems to have an appetite anymore. Eventually Bellamy sends Lucie to the living room to watch TV while he helps Aurora with the dishes. She doesn’t protest this time.

“Has this happened before?” he asks.

“Just once. A car alarm when off on our streets.”

“What do we do?”

“I think as long as she continues to go to counseling, it should get easier. I think it’ll just take time.”

“I know, but with Lucie, she can’t-”

“I know, Bellamy,” she assures him, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze. “_ She _ knows. We’ll have to sit down and talk about this, but not tonight.”

Bellamy nods, unsure of what to do about the fact that he’s no longer comfortable leaving his daughter with the person he dedicated half his life to protecting. 

\--∞--

“Can we watch a movie?” Lucie asks as they approach the bar hand-in-hand.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he tells her, sighing in relief. She was quiet the whole ride back from his mom’s house. Octavia never came out of her room and while Bellamy was tempted to check on her before they left, he needed to get his head on straight first. Lucie has to be his priority right now.

“Murphy,” Lucie yells immediately upon him opening the door for them. She breaks away from him and makes a run for the bar before Bellamy can grab her. Thankfully it's only 8pm and the busy Friday crowd hasn’t shown up yet. 

Bellamy catches up to her as she’s climbing onto one of the wooden bar stools next to an older man sipping on something brown. 

“What can I get you, ma’am?” Murphy asks with a smirk as he dries off a glass in front of her. “Whiskey neat?”

“What’s that?” Lucie asks at the same time that Bellamy tells him that it isn’t funny. 

“So very sorry, boss,” Murphy tells him, but the shit-eating smirk hasn’t left his face. 

“Sorry about that,” Bellamy apologizes to the customer next to her as he picks Lucie up and throws her over his shoulder. 

The man just waves him off, but Bellamy doesn’t miss the little smile Lucie has put on his face. He's a regular who usually comes here to drown his sorrows but always keeps to himself. Bellamy doesn't even know his name. 

Bellamy waves further down the bar at Emori who’s serving another customer. “Call me if you guys need anything.”

“Ah, we’ll by fine,” Murphy assures him. "It's like date night," he adds, shooting Emori a genuine smile. 

Bellamy feels something akin to jealousy at those words, no matter how happy he is for his friends. 

“What did I tell you about running through the bar when it’s open?” Bellamy scolds Lucie as he sets her down on the stairs. 

“I wanted to see Uncle Murphy,” Lucie explains, as if that’s all the reason she needs to break the rules. Maybe she’s been hanging around Uncle Murphy a little too much.

“Luce,” he warns, unlocking the door for them.

“Sorry,” she mutters, but he can hear the sass underneath it. 

_ That’s all Clarke _, he thinks. He always loses his stamina for scolding her when she does anything that reminds him of her mom. He’s really got to work on that.


	4. Cleaning Up Bottles on New Year's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback chapter and it's a long one. Enjoy!

**Seven Years Ago**

“Stop blinking,” Octavia scolds her for the fifth time as she attempts to apply Clarke’s eyeliner. Clarke can barely put it on herself and yet Octavia is nearly an expert when it comes to makeup. She doesn’t know what she’ll survive without her at college next year. She doesn’t really like to think about it. 

“I can’t help it,” Clarke grumbles. She takes a deep breath and looks up again while Octavia leans in closer, pencil in hand. Clarke tries to relax her face the best she can, but she fights the urge to cringe away every time the pencil comes close to her face. 

The two of them are quiet for a moment, breathing in the same familiar air as Octavia’s pre-game playlist blasts from Clarke’s laptop. Justin Timberlake is on his last verse when Octavia finally moves away from her. 

“Done!” she says, pushing Clarke towards the mirror. Clarke catches the proud smile on her best friend’s face before she even takes a look at her own. 

“It’s great, O,” she thanks her. 

“Of course it is, it’s me,” she shrugs at her, all bravado. Clarke’s known her for too long though. She can see right through it to the quiet nerves itching beneath the surface. 

“You nervous about tonight?” Clarke asks coyly. 

“Don’t know what there is to be nervous about,” Octavia answers, turning around to examine the short maroon dress she brought over on a hanger. 

“Oh, of course not. Just you trying to get with Atom, the guy you’ve had a not so low-key crush on since I’ve known you.”

“Okay, and he’s still as hot as he was when we were thirteen,” Octavia laughs.

“You realize he _ just _broke up with his girlfriend. In like, November,” Clarke warns. “Are you okay with being a rebound?” 

Octavia doesn’t take offense to the comment, understanding Clarke is only being protective.

“It’s senior year,” Octavia shrugs. “It’s not like it’ll be anything serious anyways. It’s our last New Years all together, at least for certain. I just want to have a good time...” she trails off, seemingly searching for the right word. “Make some memories,” she finishes, wiggling her eyebrows at Clarke. 

Clarke laughs and shakes her head at her. 

“Speaking of, your parents are definitely gone for the night, right?” 

“Yeah, they left a few minutes before you got here,” Clarke tells her. “I don’t imagine they’ll be back before midnight.”

“Perfect,” Octavia says, walking out of Clarke’s room still in a tank top and underwear.

“O, don’t take anything they’ll miss!” Clarke shouts after her.

Octavia comes back into Clarke’s bedroom as Clarke’s zipping up a tight black bodycon dress, hands full with two glasses of clear liquid and a bottle of orange juice tucked under her arm.

“Hot damn, Clarke!” Octavia whistles as Clarke stands in front of her full-length mirror and adjusts the dress's spaghetti straps. 

“Stop it,” she chides, but can’t help but smirk. She wants to look good tonight. She _ needs _ to look good.

“Looks like Atom isn’t the only one on the prowl for a rebound tonight,” Octavia teases, pouring orange juice into each glass. 

Clarke shakes her head at that, finally pulling herself away from the mirror in search of strappy black heels that she’s only had occasion to wear a handful of times. “Definitely not.”

Clarke isn’t even lying to her friend. She can’t imagine being with anyone given the state she’s currently in. Despite the effort she’s put into getting ready for this party, most days it’s been an effort to get out of bed in the morning. She counts her blessings she got into her school of choice via Early Decision earlier this month given she doesn’t think she could have paid attention to any more college applications if she tried. 

It was two weeks before Christmas when Finn’s ex-girlfriend had walked into his house like she lived there, not bothering to knock. As Clarke would soon discover, Raven was surprising Finn by coming home for the holidays early, her finals finished earlier than expected. Clarke would also discover that Raven wasn’t his _ ex _-girlfriend. Not really.

Raven Reyes was the beautiful and brilliant girl in the class above Clarke’s. She was valedictorian and played on the varsity field hockey and softball teams since her freshman year. She was _ that _good. Just like being smart, or beautiful, or athletic, being Finn Collins’ girlfriend was just as much a part of her identity. Although Finn is in Clarke’s class, Raven had been his neighbor growing up and they had been inseparable for as long as Clarke had known of them. She doesn’t remember when they started officially dating, they were just always together.

Raven had been accepted to a top engineering program across the country at Carnegie Mellon. Mere weeks after her graduation, she was gone. It was mid-July when Finn started showing interest in Clarke. It took her a while to realize it, simply because she had never considered it a possibility. But there he was, kind and funny, charming and adventurous, and into _ her. _Finn assured her that Raven and him broke up soon after she moved, opting to be friends instead. Raven wasn’t one to use social media, so Clarke didn’t think twice about Finn’s explanation. She should have.

When Raven walked into his living room, Clarke and Finn were ten minutes into a heavy make-out session. There was no way to explain or disguise what was going on, and Clarke didn’t know they needed to. Still, she knew who Raven was and felt awkward just the same. 

“Tell me you weren’t screwing my boyfriend while I’ve been working my ass off,” Raven says to her, voice raw and infuriated.

Clarke knows she could have handled it better. She should have explained she didn’t know about her. She should have screamed at Finn with Raven so it was clear she was just as angry at him. She should have said a lot of things. Instead, what came out of her mouth was, “Your boyfriend?”

Clarke can see from Raven’s face that the apparent stupidity of the question only angers her further.

“I have to go,” Clarke muttered, running out of the house. She heard Finn calling for her but his voice was soon drowned out by Raven screaming at him. She felt numb as she drove home and the only sign something had happened was in the shaking of her hands as she tried to clutch the steering wheel. Before she even registered it was happening, she was driving towards the Blakes’ house instead of home.

Clarke had spent hours sobbing in Octavia’s lap that night, something about the tenderness in her friend’s face breaking open the flood gates. It was just two weeks before that when she was snuggled into Octavia’s bed early in the morning after returning from a party, telling Octavia how she lost her virginity to Finn. 

What Clarke didn’t tell her was that it wasn’t great. It was more painful than she expected and she never really felt _ good _ , even when it started to feel _ better _. Then he finished and it was over, just like that. Clarke didn’t feel anything except for a little bit ashamed that she didn’t enjoy the experience that her friends all raved about. Still, he was her first and she did love him. She knows she loved him.

“Do you think Finn will be there tonight?” Octavia asks her, handing her the drink. Clarke takes a sip before she answers, scrunching her nose at the strength of it. 

“I don’t think so. Everyone knows what he did, no one has seen much of him outside of school.”

“You won’t even remember him by next year, surrounded by hundreds of hot, smart college guys,” Octavia assures her, finally changing into her own dress.

“Speaking of college…” Clarke purposely trails off, eyebrows raised at her. 

Octavia sighs dramatically. “_ No _, I have not told him yet.”

“Octavia!”

“What?! You know Bellamy, he’s going to flip.”

“He’s going to flip regardless when you tell him you aren’t applying to any colleges. Which I still think you should, at least one in case you change your mind. All the same, you might as well just get it over with. Rip it off like a band aid.”

“Well maybe I’ll be braver in the new year and tell him tomorrow morning.”

Clarke scrunches her brow in confusion. “Bellamy’s home?” 

Clarke knows he already came home for a few days for Christmas. Given how often she's heard Octavia complain about how he doesn’t get many days off, she didn’t think he would be home again so soon.

“Yeah, Miller and Bryan called it quits a few weeks ago. He basically begged Bellamy to come back to Arkadia to go to some party at a bar downtown. I think Bellamy felt too bad for him to say no.”

Wells honking in the driveway interrupts the conversation. 

“Shit!” Octavia says, moving to chug the rest of her drink. Clarke tries to drink as much of her own as she can while she gathers her purse and coat, but she’s barely touched it and it’s a lost cause.

\--∞--

Clarke fights her way through the crowded house to get to the kitchen, feeling an acute need for a stronger drink. The house seems to have a pulse of its own, the music all beat as people dance and play drinking games, talk and make out. 

She’s trying to have a good time, she really is. She’s certainly drunk enough to have a good time. Not anything close to getting sick, but she’s definitely _ there _. Like Octavia said, this might be the last New Year’s with all their friends in one place and she wants to make the best of it.

Yet no matter how many times she plays pong with Wells or gossips with Harper or does shots with Octavia, she can’t make the sadness in her dissipate. It’s a small stone lodged somewhere too deep inside of her for the alcohol to reach. 

She sighs as she pours too much vodka into her solo cup and drowns it in sprite. She told Jasper that she would be right back, had promised to join the next game of flip cup with him. But something in her doesn’t let her legs carry her back and she stares for a moment into nothing, taking small sips of her drink without registering the taste.

Wells is the DD tonight, has driven them here in his mother’s old minivan. They all make fun of him for driving it, but nights like these where he’s going to be driving their drunk asses home, they don’t really have ground to stand on. It also means that unless she wants to interrupt their night, she’s effectively stranded. For one crazy minute, she considers locking herself in a bathroom or bedroom upstairs. She shakes her head at herself and walks through the kitchen and onto the back deck, deciding what she needs most is some air. 

The night is too cold without her jacket, especially in a dress like hers. Sure Arkadia’s winter nights don’t really drop below the high 40s so she knows it isn’t _ that _ cold compared to the rest of the country. Especially compared to Princeton, where she’ll be spending her next winter. 

_ Hey, it’s all relative, _ she thinks as she shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. 

_ I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. _Those words start flowing through her head like a mantra. 

She’s so desperate, so on the verge of crying from the horrible mix of sadness and too much alcohol, that she nearly calls her parents. They might even feel sorry for her enough to not yell at her tonight, but she knows she’ll be grounded by morning. There’s no disguising the vodka on her breath. Besides, she doesn’t want to ruin their night either. It’s not even ten yet and she’s supposed to spend the night at the Blakes’ house anyways.

It’s then when she has a crazy idea. Although it’s not so much crazy as it is selfish. _ Bellamy _. 

Clarke’s pulling him up on her phone before she can talk herself out of it. She knows he’s supposed to be at a bar tonight, but maybe he can just drive her home and go right back. Better yet, given that it’s a bar, maybe Miller and him haven’t even left yet. Maybe he’ll pity her and take the time to drop her off before heading out for the night. One last time dealing with his little sister’s annoying friend, for old times’ sake. 

“Clarke?” he answers after a new rings, his voice tinged with worry.

“Hi,” she starts, already regretting the call.

\--∞--

Nearly an hour after arriving at Drop Ship, Bellamy is still nursing the same beer that he bought when they arrived. It’s not that he’s avoiding getting drunk. It wouldn’t be that big of a hassle to leave his car and call a cab home. He’s just simply not in the mood to drink. 

His reason for coming back to Arkadia seems to be doing just fine on his own. Miller had basically begged Bellamy to be his wingman for the night, insisting he needed a rebound to move on from Bryan. Yet, they haven’t even been here for an hour and there’s already some guy talking him up. So much for needing a wingman. He should’ve known Miller would do just fine on his own. 

A small part of him is a little pissed at his friend for asking him to come back to Arkadia for reasons that certainly feel unnecessary now. He could have taken a shift at the bar he’s tending back in Sacramento and he’s losing what would have been good money for not doing so. At the end of the night, it’s really his own fault. He can’t say no to his friends, not for a reason that feels as shallow as that.

So here he is, at a party at a bar when he doesn’t really feel like drinking and generally just isn’t feeling the whole scene. Maybe part of that is how disconnected he’s felt since moving to Sacramento. He thinks it’ll get better with time, eventually anyways. But as of now, he’s in a place where he isn’t quite settled into his life in Sacramento yet but already feels like Arkadia is moving on without him. He’s got a foot in each city as the cities grow further and further apart. He’s got to throw himself into one of them or he’s going to fall into that endless back pit somewhere in between. 

He knows it needs to be Sacramento that he makes his home. He’s been trying to make a life there, he really has. Besides his work, he’s gone for drinks with coworkers a few times and he’s been dating a girl he met a week after moving out there. Although it’s casual now, he thinks maybe it could be something someday. He thinks Sacramento could become home in time.

Besides, Octavia is more than half the reason he feels pulled back to Arkadia and who knows where she’ll be after she graduates. If she does go to Arkadia State then maybe he needs to reevaluate, but that’s just one school of many she could end up at. He can’t base his own life around where she’ll be for the next four years and if she’s not in Arkadia, he has even less of a reason to look back.

Bellamy taps Miller on the shoulder and nods to the bar, indicating that he’s going to grab another drink. He gives Bellamy a miniscule nod before turning his attention back to the guy he’s talking to. It takes Bellamy a solid ten minutes to make it up to the bar, which is why he’s always hated these kinds of New Year’s events. They’re always a crowded mess with overpriced alcohol. 

After he pays, he spins around too quickly and runs into a guy standing right behind him, clearly trying to squeeze into Bellamy’s spot at the bar before Bellamy even has a chance to get out of it. 

Bellamy hears glass shatter on the ground and looks up to see that the guy has dropped his drink, spilling half of it down his shirt in the process. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, man,” Bellamy tells him, fighting his internal annoyance at the fact that the guy was definitely in _ his _ space. 

“What the _ fuck _ , man?” the guy yells at him. It’s his voice that makes Bellamy do a double take. When he looks at him again, he recognizes him as John Murphy, a deadbeat asshole he graduated with. _ Great. Even better _. 

“Hey, it was an accident, I’m sorry,” Bellamy tells him, a little defensively. He tries to move around him, done with the conversation. He meets resistance when Murphy shoves him back.

“Classic Bellamy fucking Blake. You’re sorry? Well that doesn’t do my shirt a lot of fucking good, does it?” Bellamy now realizes how his words are a little too long, slightly slurred. 

“You’re drunk and I’m leaving,” Bellamy says shortly, trying to move around him again. That’s when he feels a fist connect with his jaw, sending him falling back against the bar. It’s shock, more than anything, that sends him into the bar with such a force. 

Suddenly Murphy’s smug face is too much for him. He may not have alcohol to blame, but this asshole caught him on a bad night. He swings back at Murphy with the same amount of force and sends Murphy stumbling back into the crowd behind him. 

It’s a blur after that. A lot of shouting around them, both angry and encouraging, as him and Murphy throw themselves at each other. They each get a few good punches in but the rest is mostly ungraceful shoving and pushing. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been before he feels someone dragging him backward and the bouncer yelling in his ear. He’s thrown into the street, the cold hitting his wounds like a slap to the face. 

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Miller asks, walking out behind him. He sounds more shocked than angry. “I’ve never known you to throw a punch in your life.”

“Fucking Murphy,” Bellamy mutters, spitting onto the sidewalk. He thinks he might taste a little blood. It’s then when he realizes he was seemingly the only one kicked out of the bar, which he can’t really fathom given he didn’t even throw the first punch. Before Miller can respond, the guy he was talking to walks out after him.

“Hey...everything okay?” he asks, clearly uncomfortable. Then again, he cares enough to follow after Miller so that’s saying something.

“I’m gonna get out of here but you should stay,” Bellamy tells Miller.

Miller looks concerned and hesitant to leave him. “You sure you’re alright?”

Bellamy waves him off. “I’ve only had one beer, I’m going to get out of here. You should have fun,” he tells him, nodding to the guy who’s still awkwardly standing outside the door. 

Miller nods at him, giving him a slap on the back. “Thanks for coming out tonight man, I appreciate it.”

Once they go back inside, Bellamy sits down on the curb instead of heading to his car parked on the street a few blocks away. He just needs a minute is all. Ten minutes later, he’s still sitting alone on the quiet street, staring off into some indeterminable place. Despite it being New Year’s, it’s late enough that most people are already where they want to be for the night and the streets are mostly empty. It feels both peaceful and lonely, if that's even possible.

He knows he should head home, but there’s something about his empty childhood home on New Year’s Eve that sounds equally as depressing as the bar. He’s so deep in his thoughts that the sound of his ringtone makes him jump. Clarke’s name flashes across the screen and he’s so surprised that she’s calling it takes him a moment to pick it up off the sidewalk. Then he realizes that if Clarke’s calling, her or Octavia are probably in trouble. Especially since Octavia insisted several times over that Wells would drive her home. Wells is probably the only one of their friends he trusts to stay sober on New Year’s and get them home safely. 

“Clarke?” 

“Hi.” He can tell by her voice that something’s wrong. He knows her well enough to know what she sounds like when on the verge of tears. 

“What’s wrong, Clarke? Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, everyone is okay.” She pauses a moment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. Everything’s fine.”

“Clarke, wait,” he urges, afraid she’s about to hang up. “Why did you call? What happened?”

“I just...I just don’t want to be here anymore. I was going to ask for a ride, I heard you were home. But you’re at a party and I don’t want to bother you. I shouldn’t have called.”

“What’s the address, Clarke?” he asks, ungracefully making his way off the curb. He’s already sore and knows it’ll be even worse in the morning. 

“I don’t want to ruin your night. Everyone else will be done in a few hours, it’s really fine.” He can tell she’s sincere, not just saying it. 

“Trust me, you’re not ruining anything,” he assures her, laughing a little darkly at a joke only he gets. “What’s the address?”

There’s a moment of silence where all Bellamy hears is the chatter and music pouring out of the bars he walks past on his way to the car. She finally gives it to him, sighing when she does as if she’s lost something by doing so. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

\--∞--

Bellamy pulls up to the house located in a wealthier development that he’s sure was built within the last five years. Both music and people are pouring out of the house as if it can barely contain them all despite the fact this house could swallow two of his own. 

He nearly drives past Clarke, sitting alone on the curb in her jacket with her arms hugging her sides. It's the flash of blonde hair that catches his eye. She must immediately recognize the corolla because she stands as soon as she sees headlights coming her way.

Clarke climbs into shotgun which feels odd considering he’s really only drove her when Octavia is with her. She’s usually in the backseat and he only gets a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror. He takes her in as she buckles her seatbelt and notices that she’s been crying. Even in the dark, her bloodshot eyes and smeared eye makeup are dead giveaways. She sighs once buckled, sounding exhausted. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. He can hear how stiff and awkward he sounds, but they don’t really talk about this stuff, whatever this stuff is. 

Clarke nods but looks out her window towards the house, as if she isn’t up for making eye contact with him. He knows he should put the car in drive and go, but her silence is unsettling to him. It’s not like Clarke to be so sullen.

His mind quickly goes to a dark place and he’s suddenly worried about her, stomach clenching at the thought of some asshole doing God knows what...

“Clarke, did something…” he trails off, feeling even more awkward than before, if that was even possible. “Did something happen tonight?” If it did, Murphy won’t be the last guy Bellamy punches tonight. 

Clarke turns so she’s looking straight ahead and after a beat seems to understand what he’s implying. 

“No, no nothing like...that,” she assures. “I’m just...it’s Finn. I just don’t want to be here, I’m not in the mood.”

“O told me what happened. You’re better off without him, Clarke. He sounds like a real dick.”

“And I’m the idiot who fell for him,” she says, voice cracking.

Bellamy feels himself panicking, unsure of what to do if Clarke Griffin starts crying in his car. He doesn’t say anything after that, is still trying to figure out what the right thing to say _ is _, when she finally takes a look at him.

“What the hell happened to you?” she gasps. Her voice is lighter, as if the sight of him bloody and bruised made her forget about her own worries.

“I got punched, obviously,” he snaps at her sarcastically, torn between being pissed at her amused reaction and being relieved she no longer looks on the verge of tears. 

“And?” she prompts, nodding at his knuckles that he didn’t realize were clutching the steering wheel so tightly. He lets it go. 

“_ And _, I also punched someone,” he mutters. He’s not sure what he expected after that, but it certainly wasn’t Clarke breaking into a fit of giggles. 

“What are you laughing at?” he asks, bewildered at the entire situation. This is not where he saw his night going. 

Clarke gestures between the two of them. “Look at us. We’re a couple of goddamn messes,” she says when she catches her breath. She immediately breaks into another fit of giggles before he can even respond to her.

Bellamy has never heard her like this. Clarke laughing sarcastically and haughtily at him, sure. Never like this though. He finds that he loves the sound of it and that it’s contagious. Before he can think about it or prevent it, he’s laughing just as hard with her. She’s not wrong, they’re both a sight for sore eyes. What a way to start the year.

After a minute or so, their laughter dies down. It’s awkward again for a moment as they both seemingly remember who they’re sitting next to and that they don’t particularly like that person. Bellamy coughs, clearing his voice as he finally puts the car in drive.

“You’re coming back to our place, right?” he clarifies. 

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet as Bellamy drives through the development. He’d be lying if he said the radio did anything to mitigate the awkward tension in the car. Still, he doesn’t want to go home to that empty house, even if Clarke is sleeping in the bedroom across the hall.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asks. 

“Hm?” She sounds distracted, as if he broke her out of some deep thought.

“Um, I asked if you’re hungry,” he repeats, running a nervous hand along his thigh. He feels on edge, which is ridiculous. Why is he nervous? He doesn’t _ like _ Clarke, but he’s never felt nervous around her.

“Oh.” She pauses to consider it. “Yeah, I could eat,” she says, finally. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” he sighs, not realizing that he had been holding his breath. 

They don’t say anything after that and Bellamy spends the rest of the ride thinking about why this is a terrible idea, even though it was _his_ terrible idea. 

_ It wasn’t awkward to eat breakfast or watch TV with her these last four years, _ he reminds himself. _ This is no different _.

Bellamy pulls into the parking lot of an old diner on his side of town. There are only a couple other cars in the lot. 

“I’ve never been here,” Clarke comments as they get out of the car. 

“Oh, my mom used to work here. Figured it would be open since she used to have to work the New Year’s Eve shift.”

“Oh. Octavia never mentioned the place to me,” she tells him as he opens the door for her. The bell above the door rings as they walk in, announcing their presence, but the waitress is watching Time Square coverage on the small TV behind the counter and doesn’t even spare them a glance. 

Bellamy chooses one of the booths in the front. “Yeah, it was a long time ago. I was like four, I think, and used to sit at the counter while my mom worked. The owner was nice enough that he let it slide.”

“Not your first New Year’s here then?” she asks, climbing into the booth across from him. 

“No, definitely not. But that was a long time ago.”

Clarke just nods and it feels like he shared something too intimate even though it wasn’t really anything at all.

“Happy New Year,” the waitress welcomes them, passing each a menu. She’s middle-aged, tired and worn down, but her face remains open and kind. They return the greeting although neither of them can manage much gusto. 

“Can I start ya off with anything to drink?”

Bellamy doesn’t miss the way she assesses them up and down, probably trying to gage what the hell happened to them. To her credit, she doesn’t comment on it. 

“Just a coffee,” Bellamy tells her. 

“Make it two,” Clarke adds.

When the waitress leaves to get their coffees, Clarke focuses studiously on the menu. He looks around as she does, noticing there’s only one other booth occupied by an older couple two tables down and that their waitress seems to be the only one working. The diner’s Holiday decorations are still up, tinsel and garland displayed on the walls and fake snow spray-painted on the windows. It’s faint, but he can make out ‘Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)’ playing on their radio.

“So, what’s good here?” Clarke asks, drawing his attention back to her. 

“I always go for the pancakes.”

“Better than yours?” she asks, a little smirk itching the corners of her mouth. 

“Well, they’re a solid runner up,” he laughs. 

She nods, still smiling, and buries her face in her menu again. She’s wiped under her eyes a bit, but she’s still a mess. Her eye makeup is completely smudged and her hair is frizzy, curling in every direction. Her eyes are a little less bloodshot though, so there’s that.

“You cold?” he asks, noticing how she never took off her jacket. 

“Oh.” If he didn’t know better, he’d say she blushes at the question. “I’m just not really in diner attire,” she laughs, although it’s more stilted than her laughter in the car.

“I think the beauty of a diner is that there’s no such thing as diner attire.”

Clarke looks at him over her menu, as if assessing him. “You’re right,” she says, after a beat. 

She puts the menu down to take off her jacket as their waitress comes back with the coffees. He happens to look across the table at Clarke as he accepts his mug and nearly spills it down his shirt. Thankfully he catches himself and only spills a few drops on the table instead.

“Thank you,” Clarke tells the waitress, accepting her own. She’s wearing a tight black dress, spaghetti straps the only fabric touching her shoulders. His throat tightens, pulse quickening at the sight of her. He’s torn between wanting to yell at her to put her jacket back on and ripping the rest of the dress off of her himself. When that thought crosses his mind, he’s so thrown he takes a giant gulp of his coffee to avoid saying anything to her. The heat of the it makes him nearly choke.

“You okay?” she asks, looking at him like he’s gone crazy.

“Fine,” he coughs. The waitress is watching the ordeal with a smirk on her face that he doesn’t like. 

“I’ll take the pancake stack,” he tells her once he recovers, handing her the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll do the same,” Clarke says, still eyeing him like he’s gone mad while she hands over her own menu. 

They’re both quiet after that, sipping their coffees and looking anywhere but at each other. He knew this was a bad idea.

“So this is a first,” Clarke jokes, finally breaking a little of the ice that’s settled between them, however ungracefully. 

“Well you’re usually too unbearable to share a meal with,” he teases. She laughs at that, clearly not offended. She probably feels the same way.

“Maybe you aren’t as terrible as I thought,” he adds, smirking. 

“Maybe my dress has something to do with that,” Clarke quips, her smirk identical.

“That’s not...that’s not what I meant, at all,” he stutters, completely flustered all over again. 

Clarke just laughs at his serious reaction. “Oh relax, Bellamy. I’m only kidding.”

He nods and takes a sip of his coffee again. His mouth is already burned from the first time so he doesn’t bother to think twice about it. The damage is already done. 

“So…” she starts, eyes on her finger that she’s tracing circles on the table with. “How is Sacramento?”

“Strange.” A beat. “Not great,” he admits. 

Clarke looks up at that. “You don’t like the job?”

He shakes his head. “The job is great. It just feels weird to be away from everything I’ve known. Especially my mom and Octavia. I’ll always worry about them.”

“Are you happy there?” 

He takes a minute to consider it. Nobody has asked him that, at least not so directly. Then he realizes that if he was happy, he wouldn’t need to think so hard about it.

“Not really, not yet. Maybe someday.” 

He finds it freeing to talk about it with someone who both knows him well enough that he doesn’t really have to explain himself, but whom he can also be completely honest with. With Octavia and his mom, he never wants to worry them by admitting when things aren’t good.

“O told me about Princeton,” he prompts when he finds there isn’t much else to say about Sacramento.

“Yeah.” She runs a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face. “Thank God for that, I don’t think I could focus on other applications with everything else going on.”

“Jersey,” he muses. “That’s pretty far away.”

Clarke nods, wearing a nervous expression. Maybe it’s simply that she’s not too excited about anything these days after the Finn incident, but he finds himself asking anyways.

“You excited about it?”

She hesitates, looks down at her coffee for a moment. “Um, I don’t…” He stays quiet as he waits for her to continue. “Yeah, it’s my dream school, so of course I’m excited,” she says finally, giving him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. 

“What are you studying?”

“Not sure the specifics yet, but definitely pre-med courses.”

Bellamy’s face must show some confusion.

“What?” she asks. 

He shakes his head at her, as if to clarify. “I just always assumed you would do something with art.”

“Oh.” She actually looks taken aback by that, which he finds odd because he thinks it’s an obvious assumption to have made given her work. “No, that’s just a hobby. Pre-med has always been the plan, for as long as I can remember.”

The waitress interrupts by bringing their plates of pancakes. It’s only when he leans back to allow her to set them down on the table does he realize how much he had been leaning forward across the table towards Clarke, as if he was gravitating towards her. 

“Well, you should do what you want, but I’ve seen your work, Clarke. That’s not a hobby,” he tells her once the waitress leaves. 

Clarke doesn’t say anything after that, but he sees the blush that sneaks onto her face at the compliment as she gives her full attention to the pancakes. 

“Damn, you weren’t kidding about how good these are,” Clarke tells him with a moan once she takes a bite. The shiver that runs up his spine at the sound of her moan is involuntary. 

“You’re just drunk,” he laughs. “Anything will taste great right now.”

“No, not true. I can still tell your pancakes are better.”

He grins at that and shoves a mouthful of pancakes in his mouth. He doesn’t know how long they sit across from each other talking and laughing as if every other malicious interaction between them is truly a thing of the past. He supposes it has been for a long time though, now that he considers it. He supposes he’s even missed her sarcastic quips, and that he’s going to miss her a whole lot more after tonight.

He’s thinking about how beautiful she is when she’s laughing without worrying how she looks, mouth open too wide and cackling, when the sound of the TV interrupts them. The waitress must have turned up the volume and they both turn their heads to see the Times Square countdown playing, down to 30 seconds by the time they notice. At ten seconds, eyes still on the TV, Clarke starts counting with them. She’s so quiet it’s as if she’s saying it to herself. Maybe she is. Bellamy finds himself joining her, a little louder, and she turns around to face him at seven. 

“Five,” she counts, wearing a smile he never would have thought possible when he picked her up just a few hours ago.

“Four,” he counts, returning his own smile. The blue of the booth they’re sitting at brings out the blue in her eyes, and he’s only just noticing.

“Three,” she counts, and he wishes he could press his lips to her bare neck. Just out of curiosity, just to see what she tastes like.

“Two,” he murmurs, terrified at the swarm of butterflies in his stomach that feels a lot like an unwanted infestation.

“One,” they both whisper, as if with only their eyes, they had reached an agreement that the final second would be said together.

It feels almost anticlimactic then, a strange, magical interlude that was theirs alone and disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“Happy New Year’s, Clarke,” he tells her, holding his mug up.

“Happy New Year’s, Bellamy,” she answers, clinking her own mug with his. 

They take sips from their coffees, now lukewarm. When they put their mugs down it’s clear neither is sure what to say. 

“Well we should probably head back,” Clarke prompts. “Octavia is going to be worried if neither of us are home when she gets back.”

He nods in agreement, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. 

“Bellamy, stop. I’ve got this,” she tells him, pulling her own out of her small purse. "It's the least I can do for ruining your night."

“Clarke, it’s nothing,” he insists. He can tell she’s about to continue arguing with him when the waitress stops by, probably overhearing their scuffle. 

“You kids are too cute,” she tells them. “Word of advice honey,” she whispers, turning to Clarke but making it clear Bellamy is supposed to hear too. “That dress and those shoes cost way more than pancakes. Your man can pick up the tab when that’s the case.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to feel flustered and if Bellamy weren’t as equally embarrassed, he might enjoy the fact that everything neck-up turns beet-red. “Oh, he’s not-” she stammers, but is cut off by the waitress.

“Well neither of you have to worry about it tonight, the couple here earlier took care of it,” she tells them, setting down the couple’s copy of the check that they left behind. There’s a note scribbled on the back of it. 

Bellamy looks up to their table at the same time Clarke turns around to look for them, only to find them long gone. He supposes he wouldn’t have noticed them leave behind Clarke given where his attention has been all night.

“You two have a safe night and a happy New Year,” the waitress tells them, walking off before either of them can get a sentence out. 

Bellamy reaches for the check at the same time that Clarke does, both of them curious to see what the note says. The only reason he grabs it first is because Clarke’s phone goes off at that precise moment and distracts her. She digs through her purse as he picks up the check, looking up when he hears the joyful screaming of his sister on Clarke’s phone when she answers it. Bellamy laughs as Clarke gives him a knowing look. 

“Yeah, hold on, O,” she laughs into her phone. “I’m going to take this, I’ll meet you outside,” she tells him, gathering her things. Clarke walks away as he looks at the check again, reading what the couple scribbled down on it.

Bellamy’s heart pounds as he takes in the words. It’s as if they saw something they shouldn’t have, and the instinct for self-preservation is so strong he nearly tears it in two.

_ You two reminded us a lot of ourselves when we were young. It’s clear from your nervous smiles that this is something new and we’re not sure of the circumstances that led you to the diner looking like you each walked through hell to make it here, but if the love we saw shining from each of you tonight is anything to go by, we think your future together looks brighter. Remember, if it’s right, it’ll happen. Nothing good gets away. Have a wonderful new year. _

Bellamy swallows hard, face hot even though he’s sitting alone at the table. It's relief that washes over him first, that he didn’t have to endure the embarrassment of reading that _ with _ Clarke. He stands quickly, crumpling the paper. He leaves it on the table, pulling his coat on quickly, all too eager to leave. He even takes a few steps away from the table. Then he pauses. He doesn’t know why he does it, but in a split second decision, he turns around and picks up the check again. Shoving the paper into his pocket, he heads outside to meet Clarke. 

Bellamy finds her leaning against the car, face buried in her phone. The lot is otherwise completely empty. 

“Shit, sorry. Forgot I locked it,” he says as he walks up to her. 

She looks up at him and shakes her head. “No worries. The fresh air feels good.”

It’s less than a ten minute drive home, but it doesn’t feel awkward like it did on their way to the diner. Okay, maybe he feels a little awkward with the note burning a hole in his pocket, but he doesn’t think she can tell.

“Everyone getting home okay?” he asks her once he pulls onto the main road.

“Yeah, they were all in Wells’s car when O called. I think he’s making the rounds but they should all be home soon. Harper is staying with us tonight too.”

“The more the merrier,” he chuckles under his breath. He knows he’s in trouble when the word _ us _ falling off her lips makes his stomach flip. 

_ What the hell is the matter with me. Being attracted to Clarke is far from okay _. 

It’s at that moment he can’t help but let his eyes drift to her bare thighs, wondering what it would be like to drive with his hand on one, letting it slowly drift higher and higher…

“Oh,” Clarke says, snapping him out of his inappropriate daydream. He feels terrible. “What did the check say?”

“Oh,” he starts. He can see out of the corner of his eye that she’s looking at him expectantly but he refuses to pull his eyes off the road and face her. “It just said Happy New Year,” he lies. “I think they were just being nice because of the holiday.”

“Oh.” Her voice is strange, almost disappointed, but he pulls into the driveway then and doesn't have time to dwell on it. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes as he opens the unlocked front door. He’s told Octavia countless times to lock it when she’s alone. He stops short when he walks into the house as Clarke locks up behind them.

“Well, this is great,” he sighs, feeling Clarke walk up beside him. She follows his gaze to where Octavia and Harper are passed out on the couch together, both fully-dressed in even their jackets. Octavia’s snoring badly, mouth hanging wide open. Clarke just giggles at the sight of them as he shakes his head. 

Bellamy grunts as he lifts Octavia into his arms and heads towards her bedroom. He glances behind him to see Clarke taking Harper’s jacket and shoes off as she grumbles in her sleep. 

Once he sets Octavia down on her bed, returns to the kitchen to get a glass of water and ibuprofen to put on her nightstand. Clarke walks in while he’s filling the glass. He didn’t bother turning on the light and streaks of moonlight across the room are their only illumination.

“I can bring that to her,” she whispers. There’s no chance of waking the other girls up but Bellamy understands the instinct to speak in hushes tones during the dark early morning hours.

He nods at her and hands her the glass, fingers accidentally brushing against hers. He knows this must have happened countless times over the years, but this is the first time he feels goosebumps sprinkle the back of his neck. 

When he looks at her, she’s staring at his hands. With no warning she sets the water on the counter and picks up his right hand, bringing it closer to her face and trying to examine it in the shadows. 

“Bellamy, you’ve got to clean this,” she scolds him. “It’s going to get infected.”

He tears his hand from her with more force than necessary. 

“It’ll be fine, Clarke,” he grumbles.

She shakes her head at him and sighs, as if he’s a child who just won’t learn. “C’mon, Bellamy,” she commands, taking off down the hall towards the bathroom. 

To his own disbelief, he follows her after only a few seconds. When he walks into the bathroom, she’s already flipped on the lights and is rummaging through the Blake medicine cabinet as if it's her own. She probably knows it just as well.

“Sit,” she commands, sensing his presence in the doorway. He does as she says and sits down on the toilet. She doesn’t say a word as she unloads antibiotic ointment, gauze, and medical tape onto the sink counter. She momentarily disappears into the hallway and returns with a washcloth from their linen closet. 

Bellamy watches her run it under hot water and take his hand with a gentleness he didn’t know she possessed. He bites his tongue to hold in a hiss from the pain when she presses the cloth to his wounds, but he must not disguise it well.

“It’ll hurt worse if you don’t deal with it now,” she says quietly.

“I know,” he admits, not quite able to keep the sulk from his voice.

Clarke adds soap to the cloth and begins to pat his knuckles with it, cleaning it the best she can without painfully scrubbing it. 

“I guess you won’t be too bad a doctor after all,” he jokes. He needs to keep talking so he doesn’t dwell on the feel of her soft fingers that graze his palm with every movement. 

“Yeah, we’ll see I guess.” She sounds uncertain.

Finally, she begins to pat his hand dry with a towel. When she starts applying the antibiotic ointment, he has the crazy thought that she’s close enough that he could place his good hand on her waist. He could pull her closer to him, could mold his hand to her as tightly as the back dress is. He grits his teeth in response, the next best thing from running out of the room to put space between them.

After what feels like the end of torturously long amount of time but must have been only minutes, she’s finally wrapping medical tape around his hand to secure the gauze over his knuckles. 

“Okay, let it air out tomorrow but keep it covered at work,” she instructs. He just nods as she starts to rinse out the washcloth. 

“I got it, Clarke,” he tells her, standing and covering her own hand with his good one. He means to simply take the washcloth from her but she's gripping it too tightly and he ends up just placing his hand over her balled up one. He thinks she jumps at the contact and feels bad for scaring her. Why is he being like this?

“Okay,” she murmurs, dropping the washcloth and quickly untangling her hand from his. She pauses at the doorway.

“So I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Yeah, I think I’m actually going to take off pretty early,” he tells her, deciding at that very moment he needs to be far away from her when the sun comes up. He doesn't look at her when he says it, all his focus on rinsing the washcloth. 

“Oh, okay.” She's probably confused by the fact he isn’t sticking around for coffee and pancakes in the morning, which she probably should be. “Well...goodnight, then.”

“Night, Clarke,” he responds quietly, but she’s already disappeared down the hallway and he can’t be sure she heard him.

When Bellamy gets to his room a few minutes later, he gently closes his bedroom door and takes an enormous breath, leaning back against the door. This night has felt like a weird fever dream that he needs to shake off. He strips his jeans and t-shirt off, careful not to disturb his bandaged hand in the process. 

When he falls into bed, he expects to fall asleep quickly. He’s sure he must be exhausted, but he spends the next hour restlessly tossing and turning anyways. Twice his hand wanders under the waistband of his boxers with the thought of Clarke’s bare thighs, her blonde curls and soft curves. He stops himself both times, refusing to give into the instinct. If he does, he’ll have to admit that whatever’s going on with him right now is real instead of something he’ll be able to shake off in the morning. 

\--∞--

It’s cloudy and cool the first week of February and Bellamy zips his jacket higher as he walks quickly to the entrance of his apartment building. The security pad residents are supposed to enter the building code into remains in the same broken state as it did when he moved in months ago. He swings the front door open easily, heading down the long first floor hallway towards his apartment. 

As Bellamy approaches his door, he sees a small box outside of it. He stupidly looks around the hallway as if someone is going to be waiting for him with an explanation of the package, trying to remember if he ordered anything recently. He's pretty sure he didn't. It _ was _ his birthday two days ago, but he can’t imagine anyone besides his family would have sent him anything. His mom couldn’t take off work, but Octavia and Miller came up for the weekend to visit him and already gave gifts. 

Bellamy walks faster to his door, curiosity getting the best of him, only go stop short when sees Clarke’s name scribbled on the box. He quickly puts the box under his arm and drops his keys twice in his hurry to unlock his front door. He hasn’t heard much from Clarke since he saw her on New Year’s. He hasn’t really heard anything at all, actually. 

The past month, he fought with himself over texting her but in the end felt too strange about it. It’s not like he had anything in particular to say to her. Then Clarke’s birthday came around in mid-January and he texted her ‘Happy Birthday,’ hoping she might say anything that he could cling to, anything to keep the conversation going. Instead he received, ‘Thanks, Bellamy’ the next day. When he saw that, he had thrown his phone on his bed and refused to look at it for the rest of the night.

The morning after New Year’s, Bellamy expected his feelings for her to go back to normal, whatever normal was. Instead he found his mind subconsciously drifting to her at all times of day. The girl he was seeing before the holidays told him he didn’t seem interested in her and broke it off with him by mid-January. Maybe she wanted him to fight for her, to prove her wrong, but he couldn’t. The reality was that all his attention had gone to thinking about Clarke Griffin, five hours away from him and just as unattainable if she happened to be 5 feet from him. 

Sometimes his thoughts are innocent enough. He imagines little scenarios where they’re bickering and teasing each other, just spending time together with no pressure. An actual smile creeps onto his face when he thinks of her like this. Then there are the other thoughts, the ones where he has Clarke pinned beneath him as she gasps in his ear and rakes her nails down his backs, her thighs wrapped around him. These are the thoughts that he no longer resists getting himself off to when he’s lying in bed alone, only to be flooded with guilt instead of satisfaction afterwards.

One thing he’s learned for certain is that despite his feelings becoming all too clear to him after New Year’s, they didn’t pop up out of nowhere. He’s had a lot of time to think about his feelings for Clarke and is suddenly making sense of things that have confused him in the last six months. The way he immediately hated Finn Collins for no reason at all when Clarke started dating him. The way he started turning down plans to go out with friends when he knew Clarke and Octavia would be hanging around the house. The way he couldn’t admit that part of his reluctance to take the job in Sacramento was the loss of Clarke. Unlike his family and Miller, there were no guarantees that he would see her if he moved away from Arkadia.

Bellamy throws his keys on the counter and toes off his shoes, immediately sitting down at his couch with the package in hand. Despite his hurry to open it, he now feels nervous at the thought of what might be inside it. 

“Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath, fumbling with the packing tape as he tries to rip it open.

Bellamy pulls out what he thinks must be a small frame wrapped expertly in bubble wrap, which it takes him a moment longer to tear through. When he finally does, he’s staring at a small painting of himself. He’s smiling, crinkling his eyes in such a way that he’s sure he must be in mid-laugh. His focus drifts from his face to the coffee cup in his hand and the diner behind him.

_ This must be what she saw _ , he thinks. _ This must be the ridiculous smile I had on my face when I was looking at her that night _.

It scares him a little, the look of pure joy on his face. Like the note from the couple, it feels like she saw something she wasn’t supposed to. 

He moves back to his face, studying it as if he’s mentally critiquing a piece at the Louvre. Clarke has every detail exactly right, from the bruise under his eye to the freckles on his face. The strokes are unmistakably Clarke’s. He would recognize her style anywhere from the many years he’s spent staring at the pieces of Octavia she gifts to her on her birthday every year or the many stray pieces that he finds lying around the house. He’d pick them up when no one was around to catch him showing any interest, trying to discern what it must be like in the magical corner of her head she taps into in order to create these pieces. All of her paintings look like that to him - magic.

He nearly misses the note in the box, doesn’t notice it until he sets the painting down on the table and goes to throw the box with his other recyclables. It’s on a piece of paper presumably ripped from a small notebook but like the painting, the handwriting is unmistakably Clarke’s: small, neat letters with hard edges.

_ Bellamy, _

_ Thanks for ensuring the start of my year didn’t absolutely suck. Octavia has enough of these, so I thought it was time you got one of your own. Happy 23rd Birthday, I hope the rest of your year only gets better. _

_ ~Clarke _

Bellamy puts the note in the back of the framed painting and tries to make dinner without thinking about when he might see Clarke again. He fails, quite miserably. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The note in the diner was in part inspired by this letter Steinbeck wrote to his son about love. The last line really gets to me and is so bellarke (and beliza for that matter). You can read it here: https://www.brainpickings.org/2012/01/12/john-steinbeck-on-love-1958/


	5. I Love You, Ain't That the Worst Thing You Ever Heard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! I'm going to try to post a chapter of Homesick this weekend so the next update for this will be sometime next week. Enjoy the angst!
> 
> PS. For those of you who don't know, the 2019 Bellarke Fanwork Award nominations are open until Tuesday, 23:00 GMT. I encourage everyone to nominate their favorite stories and authors from this year. It means a lot to all the authors who put in a lot of time and effort to write for free and I personally have already put in my nominations for my favorites I've read this year :)
> 
> You can nominate here:  
https://bfwa.typeform.com/to/jHtaGW
> 
> More info about the awards/rules are here:  
https://bfwa.tumblr.com/

Clarke pulls her jacket tighter around herself as she pushes open the heavy wood door to the Dead Zone, throwing her body weight into it like she always has to do. It’s early, only a little past 4pm, and the only person there is Emori who’s getting ready to open. 

“Hey,” Clarke waves at her, running a hand through her hair to try to untangle it. The wind did a number on it during the short walk from her car.

“Hey, you,” Emori greets, setting down a crate of beer. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just picking up Luce, but Bellamy insisted on making dinner. Not that I’ll ever turn down a free meal.”

“You and me both, sister,” Emori laughs. 

Clarke turns to head up the stairs but stops short, turning around again. “Oh, you and Murphy are good to go for the gala next Friday, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she promises. “Bellamy made sure someone else had our shifts covered back in October or something crazy,” she adds with a small smirk.

Of course Bellamy would make sure all their friends are there. Clarke doesn’t know why she bothered asking.

“Okay, great. I’ll see you later!” 

Clarke trudges up the long set of stairs, wondering if there will ever be a point where she isn’t a little out of breath by the time she reaches the door to Bellamy’s apartment. She’s feeling a little nervous, a little jittery, about tonight. Bellamy had said he wanted to talk to her about something and Clarke has gone through dozens of scenarios in her mind regarding what it could be about. The scenarios include both plausible ones and insane wishful thinking, but she really has no idea what to expect.

“Hey,” she greets, pushing open the unlocked door. The first thing she sees is Bellamy hunched over the counter cutting up vegetables, a dish rag slung over his shoulder in a way that Clarke should definitely _ not _ find attractive.

“Hey,” he smiles, looking up at her.

“Hi Mommy,” Lucie yells from the living room, which isn’t technically its own room given the open floor design of the apartment. She’s lying on her stomach coloring, some Nickelodeon show playing in the background.

“Hi baby,” she responds, smiling at her. 

“How was dinner last night?” Bellamy asks her, pouring her a glass of cabernet that matches his as she hangs up her coat and purse. 

“Thanks,” she says, taking it from him as she joins him at the kitchen island and hoists herself up onto one of the counter stools. “It was fun, we went to that new seafood place downtown.”

Bellamy nods as he continues to chop up a variety of vegetables. He seems lost in his own thoughts, not really hearing her. 

“Can I help?” Clarke offers. 

Bellamy shakes his head at her. “We want this to be edible, Clarke,” he deadpans, finally looking up at her. 

“Oh, shut up,” she laughs, throwing a stray piece of broccoli at him that he easily dodges.

“You’re setting a terrible example for Lucie,” he mocks. “As I tell our six year old, we don’t play with our food.”

“You know, I’m getting better,” she insists. “I managed to make an _ excellent _ lasagna last week.”

“Oh yeah? Let me guess, Raven was there?” he laughs. “Or was it Harper helping you? She makes a mean Italian dish.”

“No, Cillian showed me a family recipe,” she shoots back, taking a sip of her wine. Bellamy tenses for a fraction of a second and she feels like she single handedly took a bat to their easy banter. It doesn’t make any sense, but she knows it's true.

“Well, same difference. Doesn’t count,” he counters. His voice remains light but Clarke can tell the conversation is over. There’s no reviving it now. She takes a generous gulp of her wine as he transfers the vegetables from the cutting board to a dish with chicken in it.

“So, you said there was something we needed to talk about?” she prompts, figuring it’s best to get whatever this is out of the way before Lucie gets bored and wanders over to them. 

Bellamy doesn’t answer right away as he pops the dish into the oven.

“Right,” he sighs, finally. He runs a hand through his hair and takes his own gulp of wine before he continues. “So we were at dinner at my mom’s last night,” he starts.

Clarke nods at him to continue and she listens as he tells her about Octavia’s episode during dinner. Clarke feels many things as he speaks, all blended together. An irrational but fleeting anger with Octavia, stemming from her protectiveness of Lucie. Sympathy for Bellamy, who looks torn up about the whole situation. Sadness for her best friend, the sister she grew up with, for going through this. Self-loathing for not making the time to spend one-on-one time with Octavia since she showed up at Lucie’s party, for generally having no idea she was struggling so much.

“I should have known,” Clarke says once he finishes. “She spent five years on tours overseas, and here I was, not even considering that she might be going through a hard time right now. I should have known.”

Bellamy doesn’t reassure her. They don't lie to each other, not in that way anyways. “I should have too,” he says instead. The burden is shared, as always.

“What has Lucie said? Is she alright?”

“I think so. She seemed fine last night, but I think we need to talk to her about this. I just, I don’t...I don’t even know what we're supposed to say to a kid to explain this.”

Clarke nods, feeling in over her head at the whole situation. How are they supposed to explain to their six year old what it means for her aunt to return from a war so that she understands but isn’t terrified.

“Have you talked to Octavia?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy nods. “She called this morning to apologize. I told her it wasn't necessary but that she should probably talk to Lucy about all this. I just figured we could try to talk about it during dinner, together."

\--∞--

Bellamy sits down at his small kitchen table with his plate, having already brought Clarke and Lucie theirs. He doesn’t want to talk to Lucie about this, wants to shield her from anything even mildly uncomfortable. When he looks up, he meets Clarke’s eyes across the table and feels relief that he at least has a partner in this.

“Luce, sweetheart,” Clarke starts, turning her focus to their daughter. Bellamy doesn’t miss the slight unevenness in her voice but he thinks Lucie is too focused on her chicken to notice. “Dad told me that Aunt O got upset last night at dinner,” she continues, looking to him again as if she might gather strength from his eyes. Well, maybe that’s just him projecting.

“Yeah, she yelled at me,” Lucie says, her voice quiet and her eyes on her plate where she’s now pushing around her food without picking anything up.

Bellamy clears his throat. “We wanted to talk to you about that, Luce. She didn’t mean to yell at you, she just got scared.”

“Scared?” Lucie asks, looking up at him with a confused expression. “Why?” she asks, her voice bewildered.

“Well, you know how Aunt O had to be far away from us since you were born?” he asks.

Lucie nods in response. "She's a soldier in a war," Lucie says, but it sounds like she's reciting something that she doesn't fully understand.

“Well, some of the places she had to go can be scary sometimes. When she comes home, sometimes she forgets she isn’t in those scary places anymore and that she’s home safe with us.”

“Why does she have to go to scary places?” Lucie asks.

“Well, you know how Uncle Miller is a police officer? How he protects people in our city?” Clarke asks. Lucie nods in response. “Well, Octavia is kind of like a police officer for our country,” Clarke tells her.

She shoots Bellamy an unsure look, as if to say, _Does that make sense_? Bellamy nods in response. They both know war is far more complicated than good vs. bad but he doesn’t think he has a better explanation for their daughter than that.

“So she had to fight bad guys?” Lucie asks, her voice unsure.

“Sometimes,” Bellamy tells her. “Because of that, sometimes she forgets the bad guys aren’t around anymore and loud noises like the glass on the floor makes her scared.”

“It’s my fault?” Lucie asks.

“No!” both Bellamy and Clarke tell her at once, their voices nearing a shout.

“No, it’s not your fault at all, Luce,” Clarke reiterates, her voice softer this time. “We just wanted you to understand why Aunt O was scared and that she wasn’t angry at you.”

“Okay,” Lucie agrees, a little hesitantly. Clarke shoots Bellamy another look and he just nods at her. He couldn’t have said it better. Sometimes he’s in awe of what a great mom Clarke is. 

Before he can help himself, he reaches across the table to place his hand over hers. She gives him a soft, hesitant smile in return. They’ve become masters in the art of reassuring touches over the years. They’ve learned to communicate with the smallest of gestures when words fail them.

“Are you excited for the gala, Luce?” Bellamy asks, deciding to change the topic. He’s not sure what else there is to say about Octavia, at least not right now.

“Yes,” she answers quickly, already coming back to herself. “I’m giving my picture to Mommy to give to Luna,” she adds. 

“Oh, Mom’s allowed to see it?” Bellamy asks, smirking. 

“Oh no,” Clarke laughs, throwing her hands up defensively. “I’m told I’m receiving an envelope that I’m not allowed to open under any circumstances.”

The three of them chat easily after that, about Christmas and Lucie’s school mostly. Clarke tries to helps Bellamy clear the table once they’re finished but he waves her off.

“Well, I guess we’d better head out, Luce,” Clarke tells her.

“Can we watch a movie before we go?” she asks, voice sweet and hopeful. "Just one?"

“Oh, I don’t think so. It’s late, sweetheart.”

“Please, please, pleaseeee,” Lucy begs, voice quickly melting into tantrum mode.

“Luce, your dad has to work tonight,” she tells her, voice more stern this time. She’s always been better at saying no to her.

“Well, actually I was just going to take the night off since I’ve already got two people on the bar tonight, so I don’t mind,” Bellamy tells her. 

“That is if you guys don’t have plans,” he adds. It’s nearly 8pm but maybe she plans to invite Cillian over once she puts Lucie to bed. He feels an immature need to reassure himself that isn’t the case even though he knows that truthfully one movie won’t derail those plans if they do exist. 

“Okay,” Clarke concedes with a sigh. “_ One _ movie. Go pick it out while Dad and I clean up.”

Lucie does a little fist pump and runs towards the DVD collection next to the TV.

“Sorry, were you trying to head out?” he asks without looking up as he loads the dishwasher. He’s afraid she’ll catch the insecurity in his eyes, the real question he wants an answer to.

“No, no. I just didn’t want to intrude,” Clarke tells him, pouring them both a second glass of wine and effectively finishing the bottle. 

Bellamy looks up at her to give her a good-natured eye roll. “Yeah, because that was ever the case.” Hell, if it was up to Bellamy, they’d never leave.

Ten minutes later, Lucie is settling onto the couch between the two of them with a throw blanket she dragged over with her. Hercules begins to play, which is one of Lucie’s favorites. They’ve seen it about a million times and Clarke always blames Bellamy for that, teasing that Lucie's love for it stems from one too many Greek and Roman mythology bedtime stories. Still, Bellamy knows for a fact Clarke loves the soundtrack and even caught her singing along to it when she was cleaning up the kitchen once.

Bellamy stretches his arm along the back of the couch so that Lucie can snuggle into him further, the two of them a familiar shell of protection around her that they’ve been building up brick by brick since the day she was born. Lucie babbles throughout the whole movie, commenting on every scene with whatever thought pops into her head.

It’s a trait inherited directly from her mom, who used to drive Bellamy crazy. Slowly he began to appreciate it and now he can’t watch a movie without wondering what Clarke’s thoughts on it would be. It’s just one more thing he loves about his daughter that she got from her mother.

He spends most of the movie watching Lucie instead of the TV screen and gives Clarke’s shoulder a squeeze when Lucie’s expression is comical or she makes a particularly funny comment. When he does, Clarke always looks at him over their daughter’s head and beams at him in agreement that she’s the most precious thing in the world. 

Still, his joy is pierced every time Clarke’s phone buzzes and she picks it up, typing out a response. Sure, it could be Raven or any of their countless other friends, but he knows in his heart of hearts it’s just not. It’s him, her boyfriend. Bellamy finds himself dreading the end of this stupid cartoon, knowing he’ll have to say goodbye to the both of them and be alone once again. Maybe he’ll go downstairs and help out at the bar just for the distraction.

It isn’t just missing his daughter when she’s gone, although he certainly does miss her immensely. It’s also that he can't help but conjure an imaginary scenario where him and Clarke put Lucie to bed and pour themselves another glass of wine. They’d hole up on the couch and Clarke would tuck herself into his side where she fits perfectly. He’d lazily play with her hair as they talked into the night, eventually retiring to his room. No, _ their _room. It's their room in this fantasy. He’d lay her down on their bed and Bellamy would show her exactly how much he wants her, how much he loves her.

Bellamy would make her moan his name like he heard her do so long ago, a soundtrack from his youth that he’s played over and over again throughout the years. He’d hold her through the night, tangled so close that they were no longer distinguishable as two separate beings. One head, one heart, one soul. But then the credits are rolling and Clarke is getting Lucie ready to leave as he brings their wine glasses to the sink, the fantasy shattering as the same nightmare he lives over and over again plays out instead. 

\--∞--

Clarke sighs as she checks her watch, already stressed although the night has barely begun. 

“You guys all good?” she asks the caterers, again.

“Yeah, everything is set up,” the lead tells her, speaking slowly as if she didn’t understand him the last three times she asked. It’s the kind of tone Clarke uses when she’s growing increasingly impatient with someone but is trying to remain professional. Like with Cage.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mutters, hating herself a little for having any similarities with him. She walks back towards her office so she isn’t tempted to micromanage anyone else. 

She still has twenty minutes until doors open but she knows some of her friends and family will show up early and she’s still wearing her t-shirt and paint-stained jeans. She did her makeup and curled her hair at home but never trusts herself not to ruin a dress while running around the gallery completing last minute preparations. 

Despite it being for a great cause, Clarke finds herself looking forward to this night being over. She’s stressed, more than she’s been in a long time, and it feels selfish given it's stemming from some of the people she loves most in the world. 

There’s Cillian’s strange behavior, for one. Then there’s Octavia adjusting to being home, dealing with some degree of PTSD. They talked at length with Octavia about it and there’s nothing else to do in the meantime but be there for her. 

Maybe that’s the hard part though, not having a tangible way to fix it. That’s always been Clarke’s approach to any problem. The anxiety over all of it continues to eat away at her and she’d rather be curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and a cheesy Christmas movie on than hosting this gala.

Clarke shuts her office door and takes her red dress off the hanger. She decided to treat herself to a new dress this year since she’s been recycling the same few dresses for these types of events for years. The dress is red and festive for the holiday, a deep v-cut showing just enough cleavage while the straps offer a decent amount of support. It flares out just below her ribs, offering coverage of her stomach and the stubborn baby weight there that she never managed to lose. 

Clarke has just slid the straps over her shoulders when there’s a few quick taps on the door. 

“Clarke?” she hears Bellamy say, opening the door before she can respond.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he says, turning back towards the door once he sees her bare back. “I didn’t realize you were changing.”

“It’s fine,” she laughs. “Actually, can you zip me up? I can’t reach it.”

Bellamy turns around to face her, a blank expression on his face. “Sure,” he agrees, after a beat. 

Clarke turns around and waits. She senses him behind her just before she feels his fingers find the zipper located at her tailbone. They graze across it so softly she isn’t sure they’re real, that he really touched her at all. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, his husky voice unfamiliar to her. Well, not unfamiliar. A voice from a distant, buried past. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, heart rate picking up. “New dress, I can’t take the credit” she adds, straining to make her voice lighter. The joke falls flat and he doesn't respond. 

He’s so close behind her that she feels squeamish. She needs to be out of his reach or touching him; the in-between is torture.

Just when she’s about to ask what’s taking him so long, his fingers finally find the clasp and he begins to zip up the dress. He keeps his other hand on the small of her back as if to hold her steady and she can feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck. He feels so unnecessarily close, taking such an impossibly long time. 

“Done,” he murmurs when he finally reaches the top, dropping his hands from her. Despite the declaration, he doesn’t move from where he’s standing so close behind her. Maybe he’s simply waiting for her to turn around, but she can’t. She’s glued to this spot, afraid to end this moment that feels delicious in ways it shouldn’t. 

It feels like a game of chicken, both daring the other to say something or do something when they know neither ever will. It makes her feel like she’s crazy, like she’s delusional. It makes her believe that maybe the assurances she gives Raven in the light of day, that he could never see her like _ that, _are not as true as she believes. She can't give into it though, because believing in that will only lead to heartbreak. 

She can take just the smallest amount though, right? Just tonight, just in this moment suspended in time, she thinks she's allowed. Clarke leans back against him, giving into the overwhelming desire to feel the soft pressure of him against her. Surely that’s nothing, right? Surely it isn’t unfaithful. It’s simply another moment that is just subtle enough to pretend it’s nothing in an hour. 

There’s a hitch in Bellamy’s voice as her back makes contact with his chest and she lets her head drop against his shoulder. The single hand that brushes her waist, light as a feather, makes her squeeze her eyes shut. It’s the only reaction from her body that she can manage while remaining in control. 

“Mommy!” Lucie calls, crashing through the room. It shatters whatever bubble they thought they could hide in and Bellamy moves away from her so quickly she nearly falls backwards. It’s as if it’s a reflex for him, the same way pain receptors pull your hand off a hot stove before you can think about why. 

“Hi sweetheart, you look beautiful,” she tells her, forcing her voice into something resembling normal as Lucie envelopes her in a hug. Clarke pats down her daughter’s dark curls, Bellamy’s curls. She smiles at how adorable she looks in her forest green velvet dress as she wills herself to breath steadily. 

“Papa and Grandma are here,” Lucie tells her. 

“Okay, we’ll be right out,” Clarke tells her. She needs to talk to Bellamy, needs to know that she isn’t crazy. She needs to be brave enough to not ignore this. 

When Lucie leaves, Bellamy can barely look at her and seems to already be gravitating towards the door. 

“Bellamy,” she whispers, as if he’s a frightened animal and her voice alone might anchor him. As if it might make him stay. 

_ Stay, _ she pleads with her eyes. 

“I’ll go keep an eye on Luce,” says, blowing her off. He’s left the office before she can even argue with him. 

\--∞--

Bellamy makes a beeline for the bathroom once he glances over at Lucie and sees that she’s safe with Jake and Abby. He locks the door quickly, despite it not being a single occupancy bathroom. Too bad for every other guy here, he just doesn’t give a damn right now.

_ Stupid _ , he chides himself as he grips the edge of the counter, head down. _ So fucking stupid. _

He needs to get it together. He doesn’t know what came over him, how he just completely lost control. 

_ Clarke has a boyfriend _, he reminds himself.

_ Clarke is in love with another man _, he reiterates.

_ The other man makes Clarke happy _, he reminds himself. 

Then he repeats an older mantra, one that has stood the test of time in his mind.

_ Clarke deserves better than you. _

_ It doesn't matter if she occasionally looks at you like she wants you. _

_ It wouldn't work. She'd realize it eventually. _

_ Clarke deserves better than you. _

_ Clarke deserves everything. _

_ Clarke deserves everything you took from her and more. _

Bellamy glances up to look at his reflection in the mirror without moving. He looks like a damn madman. Sighing, he finally lets go of the counter and rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up so that he can splash cold water on his face.

With one more deep breath, he slides his jacket on and unlocks the door. When he swings it open, he nearly runs into Jasper. 

“Hey man,” Jasper greets him, clearly surprised to run into him. “Did you have the door locked?” he asks, confused.

“Must have been jammed,” Bellamy mutters, ignoring his friend’s response in favor of making his way towards the bar. He’s just accepted a glass of red wine from the bartender when he feels a tug on the bottom of his jacket.

“Daddy, you have to come see my drawing,” Lucie commands him. Bellamy forces a smile onto his face because he can’t let his idiocy affect his daughter. If he can do nothing else, he can do that. 

“I already showed Mommy, and Grandma, and Nana, and Papa, and Raven, and Miller, and Jackson,” Lucie babbles on and on, listing just about everyone, as she drags him through the crowds. He must have been holed up in that bathroom longer than he thought given the gala is now in full swing. 

Lucie brings him to the exhibit labeled, ‘What the Holidays Mean to Me,’ and it’s pretty damn cute. Looking at all the little kids’ drawings even lifts his mood a little, making him feel more like himself again. 

“This one’s mine,” she tells him, pointing up at one eye level with him. “Holidays means all my family, and I drew every single one,” she tells him with pride. 

She’s drawn herself in the middle, Clarke and himself on either side of her. Then there's everyone else, and she's right. She doesn’t miss a single one of them. She’s got her grandparents and all her aunts and uncles, the details both touching and hilarious. Lucie nails Emori’s face tattoo and Murphy’s smirk, Raven’s signature pony tail and cocky look of determination. Jasper’s got his crazy work goggles on his head and Maya’s in her nurse’s scrubs, right next to Monty and Harper who are holding Jordan. Miller’s looking like a badass in his police uniform, Wells sharp in a suit, Jackson in his doctor’s scrubs and jacket. She even put a stethoscope around his neck. Octavia is wearing her uniform, looking fierce in a way that now makes him a little sad. 

“Do you like it, Dad?” she asks, sounding a little nervous. Bellamy realizes he hasn’t said a word, has been staring at it in awe as he tries not to cry in front of everyone here. Murphy will never let him live it down.

“Luce, that is so amazing and special,” he tells her, pulling her into a hug. 

“Dad, you’re going to mess up my hair,” she scolds, pushing away. He laughs lightly and lets her go. She doesn’t even understand how much this means to him that Clarke and him were able to give her this huge family. She doesn’t even know any different. 

Lucie wanders off and Bellamy takes one last minute to collect himself before walking away from the drawing. He walks up to where Clarke and Cillian are talking with Murphy, Emori, Wells, and Jackson in a bit of a semicircle. They give him knowing smiles as he approaches the group.

“She showed him the drawing,” Wells says by way of greeting. “I can see it in his bloodshot eyes.”

“Shut up, man,” Bellamy snaps, but he can’t manage any malice in his voice. Hell, he can’t even bite back his smile. “Was I the last?”

“Well, she got to me, clearly,” Clarke jokes, pointing to where her eye make up is a bit smudged. Bellamy chuckles, relief washing over him that they’re talking like everything is normal. 

“Where’d you disappear to?” Jackson asks. “No one could find you.”

“Oh, just got some air,” he lies. It’s a dumb excuse and he can’t meet Clarke’s eye when he says it, but thankfully no one pushes him on it. 

“We were all just talking about New Year’s plans,” Wells explains. “No one knows what they’re doing yet.”

“Working,” Murphy and Emori say in unison, making the group laugh. 

“Hey, Clarke,” Cillian starts, turning towards her. 

Maybe it’s only paranoia, but Bellamy thinks he’s about to suggest New Year’s plans for them. Hell, maybe the guy was just excusing himself to use the bathroom. Still, he can’t stop himself from cutting him off, can’t risk a New Year’s without Clarke by his side.

“I was thinking of having a party for all of us at the bar this year,” Bellamy blurts, not having actually thought it through at all. "Closing it down and having the place to ourselves as a group,” Bellamy clarifies, if it wasn’t obvious. 

He feels bad for cutting Cillian off, but still can’t help feeling a bit smug about the way he now has her full attention. 

“I mean, technically it’s a big money night, but I don’t mind. I think it would be nice if we could all spend the holiday together,” he continues, driving the point home. 

“Well, I might mind,” Murphy mutters, alluding to the tips he’ll be losing.

Thankfully, Emori doesn’t seem to mind. She elbows him softly. “Hey, wouldn’t it be nice to see me in a tight dress for the holiday instead of a beer-stained tank top?”

“Guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Murphy smirks, pulling her closer.

“I think it sounds awesome,” Jackson says. 

“Yeah, I love that,” Clarke agrees. Bellamy lets out a small sigh of relief, since hers is the only answer he really cares about.

He spares Cillian a glance and finds him already looking back at him, giving Bellamy a strange look that certainly isn't pleasant. Still, it's not harsh enough for Bellamy to be sure it’s malicious either.

“Well, I guess Sasha has to meet you animals eventually,” Wells laughs, pulling Bellamy's attention back to the group. “We’re in.”

\--∞--

Bellamy excuses himself soon after sabotaging Cillian’s New Year’s plans, afraid of the group dispersing and being left to face the two of them alone. He spends the next hour snacking and chatting with friends, congratulating Luna when he sees her. When he goes to look for Octavia, he once again finds her huddled in a corner talking with Lincoln.

He’s grabbing his second glass of wine from the bar when he feels a hand clap down on his shoulder.

“Bellamy,” Jake greets him. He has a commanding voice, the kind that makes you respect him before you even know him. But then you know him and realize the millions of reasons why you should respect him anyways. He’s the closest thing to a dad Bellamy’s ever had, that's for sure. Clarke is lucky to have him. 

“Hey, Jake,” he responds, turning around to match Jake’s position. They lean back against the bar and look out to the crowds, a glass of wine in hand.

They chat easily about Lucie and Octavia, about the bar too. Then Bellamy watches as Jake’s eyes find his daughter in that damn red dress of hers. Cillian’s arm is around her as they talk with Raven, Maya, and Harper. Maya and Harper seem to be eating up whatever Cillian is saying, clearly charmed by the handsome doctor, but Raven’s got a funny look on her face. She looks...unimpressed, to say the least. 

Jake’s saying something to him, but Bellamy’s eyes are glued on her as the girls walk away and she’s left smiling at something Cillian is whispering in her ear.

“Are you even listening to me, Son?” Jake asks, sounding both exasperated and amused.

“No,” Bellamy admits. He’s too tired to pretend.

“I said, if you don’t say something soon, I will.” 

That has Bellamy’s attention. “Jake-” he starts, a warning in his tone. He already has a guess at where this is going.

It doesn’t matter though, because Bellamy is cut off by Cillian tapping a spoon against his wine glass and the clamor of voices across the gallery dissolves into nothing.

“I want to give a hand for Luna and Clarke, who made this amazing night possible,” he says. Everyone starts clapping, Bellamy along with them, but not without trying to figure out where he's going with this. Maybe he's just making a toast. 

“You see, I’m lucky enough to have Clarke here as my girlfriend. Like tonight, everything she touches she makes better, and I’m no different.”

Bellamy’s heart starts beating wildly as he grasps his glass tighter. Somehow in all of it, he feels his mom walk up next to him. For her part, Clarke’s face is pink with embarrassment as she shifts on her heels awkwardly. Clarke hates this kind of attention.

“Clarke, I love the person I am with you and I think it would be an honor to spend the rest of my life trying to give you that in return.” He takes her hands and Bellamy, as if from a distance, thinks that someone must have taken his glass because he only has a small box in his hand now. 

People seem to be catching on to what’s happening now. Everyone gasps as Cillian takes a knee but Bellamy can’t seem to make any noise. If he could, he thinks it would come out as a scream instead of a gasp.

_ This is what you wanted, what you always knew would happen _, the little voice inside him taunts. But his heart is screaming that it’s wrong, it's screaming in agony.

“Clarke, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Bellamy can’t tear his eyes from Clarke, standing in clear view of him now that Cillian is on his knee. It’s masochism, but he can’t move.

At that very moment, he thinks Clarke glances at him, right over Cillian’s head. It’s so brief he barely catches it and he isn’t sure if he made it up. Surely his mind can’t be trusted right now, but the feeling of her eyes on him still flutters about in his chest. It's a feeling hard to fake, Clarke's eyes on him. But maybe she was looking for Lucie. Or maybe-

“Yes,” she nods, beaming with a brilliant smile on her face. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”


	6. 'Cause I Only Lose My Mind When I Ain't Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> First off, sorry I lied about getting the Homesick chapter out first, I'm still working on it!
> 
> Second, I can't even begin to express how touched and thankful I am for the nominations Homesick and All Because of You received in the bellarke fanwork awards. I just started writing this year and even if I don't make it to any further rounds, Im incredibly touched you guys like my work enough to even nominate it. 
> 
> You can find the most recent voting links on the tumblr page, as well as a post with information on what dates the voting is open for. I encourage you guys to continue voting, I know all the authors and content creators appreciate being recognized for their work. 
> 
> https://bfwa.tumblr.com/

**Seven Years Ago**

“Where the hell are  you going?” Bellamy asks, setting down the TV remote. He’s lounging on his mom’s couch flipping through the channels when Octavia comes in through the kitchen with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. 

“I’m going to Clarke’s to get ready for a party?” The whole question is shrouded in sarcasm as if she doesn’t understand why he might possibly be asking her that.

“Well I took this weekend off to visit you and you’re not even planning on being here.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Bell, it’s the last Saturday of my last spring break. Relax, we can hang out tomorrow.”

“Why don’t Clarke and you just hang out here tonight?” he suggests, striving for a nonchalant tone. Despite not speaking with her since thanking her for the birthday gift over a month ago, she’s remained a constant on his mind and the thought of seeing her sends a thrill through him. He needs to get over it though. These feelings are useless and doomed. 

“Sure,” Octavia laughs, searching for her shoe under the couch he’s laying on. “We can all make popcorn and watch a history channel documentary. Sounds riveting.”

“Don’t be an ass, O,” he scolds, taking the opportunity to lean over and mess up her hair.

“Bell!” she shrieks at him, standing and swatting him with the sandal she’s found. “Now I’m going to have to re-straighten it.”

“Tragic,” he tells her, turning his attention back to the television.

“Bye,” she tells him, tone short as she slings the bag over her shoulder again.

“Call if you need a ride,” he yells without turning around. He's not sure if she even heard him before the front door slammed shut. 

Bellamy tries not to be pissed about the fact he made the effort to come all the way back to Arkadia to see Octavia, the first time he’s made it back since the holidays, only to be blown off. It’s not just the party tonight either. There were the dinner plans last night and the shopping plans all day today. If he didn’t know any better he’d think she was avoiding him. He would be more hurt if he wasn’t so suspicious about it.

Bellamy scrolls through his messages to pull up his last conversation with Miller. He came all the way here so he might as well not sit on the couch doing the same thing he’d be doing in Sacramento. 

** _Bellamy:_ ** _ Hey man, what are you doing tonight? Home this weekend and got ditched by the little sister...again. _

** _Miller:_ ** _ Haha rough. She’s too cool for you these days. _

** _Bellamy: _ ** _ Yeah, yeah. _

** _Miller: _ ** _ Party at Mbege’s tonight. You down? _

Bellamy sighs, raking a hand through his hair as he considers it. Bellamy graduated with John Mbege but they were more acquaintances than friends and he remembers him being a bit of a dick. Besides, he would rather just throw back a few beers with Miller instead of go to any party, no matter who’s hosting. Then he looks back at the TV and realizes it might be a new kind of pathetic if he actually _does_ spend the night eating popcorn and watching a history channel documentary alone.

** _Bellamy: _ ** _ Sure, why not. Send me the address. _

** _Miller: _ ** _ That’s the kind of attitude that always makes you the life of the party, Blake. _

\--∞--

Bellamy shows up to the party about two hours later, wanting to make sure it’s in full swing so his arrival isn’t a noted event. He’s surprised to pull up to a large house that he remembers is Mbege’s parents’ house from the times he partied there in high school. 

_ Great _ , he thinks.  _ Who doesn’t want to relive their high school days. _

Bellamy honestly has no idea what Mbege has been up to since they graduated. He thinks he remembers that he went to UCLA and moved back here after graduating, but he can’t imagine why someone with a college degree is still living with his parents.

Bellamy texts Miller as he walks up to the house, light pouring out of its windows and faint music streaming out into the street. Miller tells him he’s in the kitchen so that’s where he heads once he makes his way through the front hallway crowded with people and solo cups. It’s already too hot in here.

“Hey man,” he greets Miller, giving him a handshake. 

“Hey Blake, it’s been too long,” Mbege greets him from beside Miller, before Miller can even respond. Bellamy shakes his hand too.

“Hey, yeah it really has been. Hope you don’t mind me crashing tonight.”

Mbege shakes his head. “Not at all, man. What have you been up to?” 

Bellamy tells him a little about moving to Sacramento and his jobs as a security officer and a bartender, trying to ignore the embarrassment that rises hot in his cheeks as he stands in the middle of Mbege’s enormous kitchen. Mbege is gracious as he listens though and seems sincere when he tells him how great that is. Who knows, maybe people do change.

“So, are you living back home then?” Bellamy asks, accepting a bud light from Miller. He’s not trying to be rude and hopes his tone conveys that he’s genuinely curious.

Mbege laughs at that, but doesn’t seem offended. “No, no. My parents are out of town and my little sister wanted to throw a party. I figured I might as well invite some friends and have a good time myself as I make sure she doesn’t burn the house down. You remember what it was like back in the day.”

Bellamy laughs, remembering it all too well. High school wasn’t all bad, despite the stress of working two jobs throughout. He had some good times too.

The three of them are reminiscing about their sectional football win during their junior year when Bellamy freezes, his beer half way to his lips. He sees her hair first. Doesn’t he always? Maybe it’s because subconsciously, he’s been looking for that flash of blonde since he’s known her. Maybe he always will be. 

Bellamy’s eyes rake over her as he tries to process how he accidentally showed up at the same party as his little sister and her friends. His eyes take in her tousled blonde waves, cute baby blue sundress, and solo cup in hand, as he kicks himself for not coming to this realization earlier when Mbege’s explained his reasoning for the party. Bellamy lowers his beer, tightening his grip on its neck as he watches her throw her head back in laughter from something the douchebag talking to her is saying. He’s got her backed against the wall, much too close for his comfort, but what bothers him most is that she doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Before he can even yell at Miller for inviting him here, Octavia’s voice tears through the kitchen.

“Bellamy?” Her voice is more bewildered than angry, so that’s a good sign. He’s still looking at Clarke when she calls out and Clarke’s head pops up immediately upon hearing his name, eyes finding his across the room. She immediately steps around the boy as if she’s been caught doing something she isn’t supposed to. 

Octavia pushes through a few people as she makes her way over to him, none too graceful as people roll their eyes and raise their drinks to avoid Octavia spilling them. “What are you  _ doing _ here?” she asks once she reaches him. 

“Well, this asshole invited me,” he says, giving Miller a pointed look. Bellamy sees Mbege back away from them and turn his attention elsewhere, apparently wanting no part in a possible squabble. 

Miller throws up his hands in defense. “I didn’t know _they_ would be here.”

“Well, did you know it was a high school party?” he shoots back.

“No, I knew there would be booze,” Miller deadpans. At this point, Clarke has wandered over to their group. 

“Hey, Bellamy,” she greets him, her voice both suspicious and worried. “Is everything okay?”

Bellamy realizes she must think something is wrong but Octavia answers for him before he has a chance to explain.

“Everything’s okay except for my big brother crashing the party.” 

“I didn’t know!” Bellamy says again, becoming exasperated. “In fact, I should probably head out so I’m not drinking with my underage sister and her friends.”

_ That’s probably worse than the history channel documentary and popcorn _ .

“You don’t have to leave,” Clarke tells him, surprising him. Surprising all of them, actually.

“He doesn’t?” Octavia questions her, eyebrows raised. She looks like she’s trying to communicate something to Clarke with her eyes, but Clarke just shrugs, brushing her off.

“What?” she questions Octavia, a little defensively, when Octavia continues to glare at her. 

“You’re already here,” Clarke says, turning her attention back to Bellamy. “Might as well stay and have fun.”

“Well, alright,” Octavia concedes, dramatically throwing her hands up in defeat. 

“Alright,  _ now _ it’s a party,” Miller laughs, grabbing for a bottle of tequila and pouring a round of shots for the four of them. “Here’s to the first of many nights corrupting your little sister, Blake.”

“She doesn’t need any help with that,” Clarke giggles, picking up the shot.

Bellamy just shakes his head at the whole situation before they all cheers and throw back the shots. One look at the adorable way Clarke’s face scrunches up at the taste of it and he knows he isn’t going anywhere.

\--∞--

“Okay, we just need one more.  _ One more _ , and the game is ours,” Bellamy tells her, voice facetiously intense as he tries to pump her up.

“Okay, okay. I’ve got this,” she promises, smiling widely as she picks up the pong ball off the outdoor lawn table. Mbege’s backyard is fenced in but large, complete with a sectioned off patio space that Bellamy thinks usually houses a nicer dining set. Tonight, it’s been replaced by two pong tables. 

They’ve got one cup left and then they have Jasper and Monty beat. Not that it’s too tough a game, given how high he knows Jasper and Monty are. 

The moment feels surreal, one from an alternate reality or a fever dream, much like their New Year’s Eve. He’s spent the last few hours partying with Miller and Octavia’s friends, somehow spending most of the night by Clarke’s side. Even while at the same party, Octavia is still keen on ignoring him. Clarke seems to have the opposite reaction to him, always ending up in his periphery. 

This is their second game of pong but he’s long since cut Clarke off and stopped drinking himself hours ago, wanting to make sure he can drive them home. He expected Clarke to argue with him when he told her an hour ago that she’d had enough and replaced her solo cup with a cup of water. Instead, she gave him an unreadable look and told him “okay.” As she took a large gulp of water, he considered that it might have been the first time Clarke ever agreed to anything he commanded or even suggested.

Clarke’s shot circles the rim of the cup before falling in, effectively winning their second game in a row. Before he can process it, Clarke is squealing and throwing herself into him, arms wrapping around his neck. It takes him a beat, but then he’s hugging her back tightly, wrapping his own arms around her waist. 

“Good job, Princess,” he murmurs into her ear.

“Uh, not to break up the victory festivities but we still get our rebuttal shot!” Jasper yells at them. 

It ends their moment and Clarke pulls away from him, putting an extra foot between them that wasn’t there before. Jasper gets ready to shoot but by the way he was slurring his words a minute ago, Bellamy doesn’t think they’ll have a problem. Ultimately, he’s right. Monty misses too, and Clarke and Bellamy remain champions. 

“Alright, we’ll I’m going to go find Wells,” Clarke tells him, nodding towards the house.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, running a hand through his hair nervously. He’s always nervous around her these days. 

Clarke turns around to make her way back towards the house only to catch her foot on the edge of the patio steps. She falls on her hands and knees, landing hard on the concrete. 

“Clarke!” he hears Octavia yell in alarm. She’s sitting in Atom’s lap in a patio chair on the deck attached to the back of the house. Bellamy rushes over to Clarke as Octavia untangles herself from Atom and does the same. Clarke is already standing and brushing herself off as they arrive at her side.

“Guys, I’m fine. I’m not that drunk, just clumsy per usual,” she assures, rolling her eyes at herself. Her cheeks are pink with embarrassment.

Octavia laughs. “Well, I think we both knew that.”

“You’re not fine, your knees are bleeding,” Bellamy points out, ignoring their exchange.

“Shit, Clarke,” Octavia says. She takes her hand a moment later. “You scratched these up good, too. C’mon, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

“I’m fine, O” Clarke assures her at the same time that Bellamy volunteers to help her instead.

Octavia looks between the two of them. “You,” she says, pointing at Clarke, “are definitely not fine. But I’ll let Bellamy deal with that because he crashed our party and I’d rather go back to sitting on Atom’s lap.”

“O,” Bellamy groans, throwing his head back in disgust. Octavia just snickers as she walks back over to Atom.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” Clarke insists, walking towards the house. Bellamy remains on her heels.

“Just humor me, would you? You’ve got blood trickling down your legs and your hands don’t look much better.”

Clarke stops dead in her tracks in the kitchen and spins around to face him. He can tell she’s trying to make herself seem bigger as she narrows her eyes at him, trying to intimidate him. Instead it’s both incredibly sexy and adorable, having the opposite effect than the one she intended. He’s not leaving her side anytime soon.

“Brave, princess,” he teases. “You think that scowl is going to get rid of me? I live with Octavia.”

“Fine,” she groans, turning around again and walking towards the downstairs bathroom. Bellamy doesn’t say anything as he follows her, but they stop when they see the line of three people waiting. Ordinarily he would ask to skip the line, thinking the bleeding girl ought to take precedence, but he knows how drunk people are when they have to pee.

“Let’s go find a bathroom upstairs,” he suggests. As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he hears how it sounds. “For this,” he adds, awkwardly pointing out her bloody knees to the people eyeing them curiously. Clarke just rolls her eyes at him and lets Bellamy take the lead this time, heading towards the staircase in the front of the house. Clarke doesn’t say a word as they climb the stairs, the music and voices fading into the background.

Bellamy finds the bathroom at the end of a long hallway and ushers Clarke inside.  “After you.”

\--∞--

Clarke hops onto the bathroom counter as Bellamy finds first aid supplies in the bottom drawer of the cabinet and a wash cloth expertly folded over the towel rack. She  can’t hear the music from the party anymore despite the door being open and the silence in the small room feels loud and intimate. She scratches her arm nervously.

Bellamy Blake has been a... _ problem _ for her lately. The word ‘problem’ seems too simple for all the things she’s been feeling and working through, though. Clarke Griffin isn’t afraid of problems. Problems have solutions, which she can always find. But whatever this is, it doesn’t seem to have one.

She’d like to pretend it all started on New Year’s Eve, but she tries to make a point of not lying to herself if she can help it. The truth is she’s always had a little bit of a crush on Bellamy. It wasn’t like the school girl crushes that Octavia’s other friends immediately had on him though. Instead, it sort of snuck up on her. 

There were little things that she started to notice about him when she was fifteen, like how her stomach flipped when he would stretch his arms over his head and she would catch a sliver of skin at his waist. She would catch herself staring at him while she watched TV with him and Octavia, itching to sketch the crinkle of his eyes when he laughed at the show or paint the exact shade of brown of the freckles that sprinkled his nose. Sometimes she would innocently wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Still, it was all under control.

At least, it was until New Year’s. That night was bad for her. Suddenly it wasn’t Octavia’s cute older brother who she watched in secret but  _ Bellamy _ , his own person. His own person who was funny and listened to her, who was hard working and caring. It flipped a switch in her and she’s been an utter disaster ever sense. 

The way she’s felt the last few months, pining over this guy she’ll never have or who’ll never see her as anything more than his little sister’s nuisance of a friend, has made her realize how much her feelings for Finn had always lacked depth. Even from miles away, whatever she feels for this guy is much too intense. She just needs to make it through graduation, then she’ll be so distracted by her new life at college that she'll be able to leave these insane feelings behind. 

“We can’t get blood all over their towels,” Clarke argues when Bellamy runs the washcloth under the sink next to her. 

Bellamy scoffs at her. “Yeah, Clarke. It really looks like a family that owns a house like this is going to miss one towel.”

Clarke’s face turns red hot. Clarke’s house doesn’t look all that different than the Mbege’s. In fact her parents belong to the same country club as the Mbege’s. Is this what Bellamy thinks of her too? Does her family make him scoff? 

The feel of the hot towel on her hand a moment later snaps her out of her thoughts. She almost cringes but doesn’t want Bellamy to think she’s being childish, not after she was so stern with him while cleaning up his knuckles on New Year's. He’s silent as he wipes away the blood and dirt from her palm. The awkwardness in the small room expands with every second, a balloon threatening to burst.

“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this,” Bellamy laughs, piercing the silence. Clarke can’t help but laugh too and feels a little better already. Bellamy is charming, much more so than her. Bellamy is a lot of things she’s not and maybe that’s to blame for her attraction to him.

“So, how’s Sacramento been? Better since January?” she asks as he works on her other hand. 

“Fine, good. Good to be back though, to see the family,” he answers. “Good to see everyone else too,” he corrects himself, voice a little uneven as he looks up to meet her gaze. There’s a strange dark look in his eyes when they meet hers, one that thrills her. She looks away quickly and Bellamy’s focus returns to bandaging her hand. 

“Octavia said you started seeing someone up there,” Clarke prompts, hating how nosy she must come off as. 

The truth is it threw her through a loop when Octavia told her that, sometime shortly after returning to school in January. Before that, she had fantasized that it was possible Bellamy was interested in her. It acted as a stark reminder that just because he thinks she looks nice in a dress doesn’t mean he sees her as anything more than a child. 

The disappointment tore through her and when she got home from school that day, she immediately started working on her painting of Bellamy. It felt strangely therapeutic as she disappeared into another world where it was her and Bellamy alone in that diner again. When he texted her on her birthday, she didn’t try to keep talking to him like she was tempted to. He was with someone else and getting her hopes up would only hurt her in the end.

Bellamy is silent for a beat and Clarke wonders if he’s uncomfortable with the question. It’s none of her business and she really shouldn’t have asked. “You have outdated information,” he answers, finally. “That ended back in January or so.”

He moves onto her knees and begins cleaning them, but neither of them says anything further and the tension seeps back into the room. She holds her breath as he cleans the blood off each calf from where it had trickled down from her knees.

It goes against every independent bone in her body to admit, but she loves the feeling of being taken care of by him. The way his hands work deftly and expertly as they bandage eat knee, portraying a degree of authority that makes Clarke’s heart beat wildly. He’s somehow the perfect combination of gentle and firm. 

He finishes bandaging her second knee, but leaves his hand on it a moment too long to be an accident. When Clarke’s breath hitches, he tenses but doesn't move away from her. When she says nothing, he strokes the inner side of her knee with his thumb. He continues to look down, refusing to look up and meet her eyes that are gazing down at him. She wonders what she would find if he did.

Just as she’s wondering what on earth is happening, searching her mind for explanations that don’t mean what she hopes this means, he starts to lift his hand off her. It's as if he’s finally gathered the strength to pull away from her. But she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want him away from her, not ever again. As if on instinct, she reaches out and grabs his t-shirt. She holds it so tightly the small cuts on her hand burn.

This time his head snaps up in surprise, eyes finally meeting hers. They stare at each other for a moment, willing the other to make a move away or closer. Neither does either and they remain still as statues, somehow caught in a game of chicken that neither knows the rules for. Bellamy moves first, his hand experimentally moving up the outside of her thigh. Her heart pounds and she can’t help the little gasp she releases as he trails higher and higher, his eyes never leaving her's. 

_ Is this really happening?  _ she thinks.  _ With Bellamy? _

_ Is this even allowed?  _ she wonders, childishly, as if someone might show up and inform them both its against the rules. His hand moving higher up her thigh, now under her dress and dangerously close to her ass, reminds her that there are no such rules. Not if they don’t want any.

His eyes are pitch black and desperate. As if from a distance, as if her body isn’t her own, she realizes she’s still clinging to his t-shirt. Experimentally, she pulls him closer to her. He falls into her ungracefully, steadying himself on the counter with his free hand. Despite how close they are, despite that he’s settled comfortably between her legs now, they simply stare at each other. Both are afraid of the last inch, the distance between their lips feeling much further than it is. Still, neither is willing to end whatever it is they’ve started.

Bellamy gently trails his finger up and down her thigh, sending a violent shiver ripping though her against her will. She waits for him to laugh at her but his eyes only grow hungrier, predatory in a way that she never imagined in her most detailed fantasies. A moment later, his mouth is crashing into hers as if against his will. He’s a rubber band stretched too far, harshly snapping back to her.

The kiss is something primal, tongues competing in a way that reminds her of the battle of wits they've always played. But this is a new delicious version of it and she can’t get enough of the taste of him. It’s everything she’s wanted and still not enough. Clarke lets go of his shirt and her hands run through his hair of their own volition, pulling him even closer to him by wrapping her legs around his waist. They kiss like they’ve been starving, like they’ll never be satisfied again.

Clarke doesn’t protest when he slides the thin straps of her dress down, breaking away from her swollen lips to kiss down her jawline and neck, a steady path towards her chest. Little moans and gasps escape from her that seem to urge him on. His hands move up the outside of her thighs with purpose, squeezing her waist under her dress. He bites and sucks at her her, only breaking away when she tugs at his shirt, desperately needing to feel his skin on hers. She needs him  _ closer _ . 

Bellamy looks at her intensely when he steps back and Clarke refuses to look away from him. He seems to consider her for a moment as both of them breathe heavily, nearly panting. She sees a small question or struggle in his eyes right before he slams the door shut and locks it. It feels like a decision, a final one. He throws off his shirt and crashes into her again. 

All she’s aware of is the feel of his skin, hands everywhere and their tongues dancing between each others’ mouths and other parts of their bodies, greedy to taste every inch of the other. Her center increasingly throbs and it isn’t long before it becomes too much. She whimpers instead of moans, her hand leaving him to move between them. 

“No,” Bellamy commands as he grabs her wrist, reading her intention. His voice is rough and imposing, making her ache even more desperately. His own hand slips under her dress instead and this time it’s him that moans as he feels how worked up she already is. He thumbs her clit, giving her all the pressure she’s been craving, and surprises her when he slips a finger into her.

“Ohh,” she moans, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the mirror. If it hurts, she doesn’t notice. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice surprising her in its closeness. His lips must be next to her ear. “You want me to take care of you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he bites into the flesh where her neck meets her shoulder, soothingly swiping his tongue over it after. 

Then he’s kissing her again at the same time that he pumps two fingers into her as he expertly strokes her g-spot in a way no one ever has. It feels so good she could cry and her orgasm takes her by surprise, embarrassingly fast. She hasn’t even fully recovered before she’s worried that he’ll end whatever this is. She knows she needs to ask for what she wants, but she can’t manage the words. Breath still heavy as she comes down from her high, she breaks away from Bellamy to work on his belt buckle. 

Bellamy doesn’t help her or stop her, his own breath heavy as he stares down at her hands. Like with his shirt, he seems to hesitate as if he’s deciding something. Then he’s helping her with the belt, knocking her hands away to unbuckle it quicker. 

“Condom,” he says, breaking away from her again. He’s searching through the cabinet drawers like a mad man, as if he’s in search of lifesaving medicine. Bellamy pays no mind to the things he dumps and shoves aside and Clarke is sure whoever this bathroom belongs to will notice. 

He checks the cabinet behind her next, awkwardly hovering over her to reach it. Clarke leans into him to get out of the way and can’t help but press her lips to his neck, not when it’s right there in front of her face. Bellamy makes a sound somewhere between a choke and a groan. In another setting, Clarke would probably think he was angry. 

“Thank god,” he mutters, pulling a box of condoms out of the cabinet. He fumbles with it, nearly drops it, in his rush to pull a condom out. When he finally manages to, he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out. He doesn't bother to take off his pants as he tears the wrapper open and slides the condom on. 

Bellamy’s eyes are wild, even more animalistic than before, which Clarke hadn’t thought possible. He slides her closer to him so that she’s sitting on the edge of the counter.

He pushes into her slowly, which is good because she’s only been with Finn once and he wasn’t nearly as big. She’s still so worked up that the stretch feels satisfying instead of painful like it was with Finn. 

“You okay, Clarke?” he murmurs, sounding more like the concerned, protective Bellamy that she grew up with.

“Yeah, keep going,” she pants. He groans once he bottoms out and kisses her even more desperately than before. She wants to assure him she won’t disappear but she can barely think, let alone form words, as he starts moving. 

Bellamy starts thrusting into her slowly and steadily at first, but it isn’t long before he’s pounding into her hard enough that she has to clutch at his shoulders, anchoring herself to him the best she can. It only turns her on more, this feeling of being at his mercy. Clarke tilts her hips up slightly but it’s enough that the new angle lets him hit a spot so deep inside her that she didn’t know it existed. 

Suddenly, her voice finds her again, hoarse and urgent. “There,” she chants, over and over again. She’s moaning some combination of his name, ‘right there’, and other unintelligible noises when she hears a knock on the door.

Bellamy covers her mouth hard with his hand but doesn’t let up, only picking up his pace.

“Bellamy, you in there? I can’t find Clarke?” It’s Octavia’s voice, unmistakable to both of them. 

Hand still over her mouth, Clarke’s eyes look up at his own blown pupils. She’s hurdling towards her orgasm when they finally hear footsteps walking away from the door. Bellamy’s hand leaves her mouth to pull her even closer to him, which she didn’t think was possible. He hits that mind numbing spot over and over again with short thrusts until her toes are curling and she’s clinging to him, arms loops under his arm pits to pull him closer to her. When she comes, she bites hard into his shoulder to stifle a literal scream. 

The feel of of her tightening around him must be more than he can handle because he comes just moments later. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he growls, as if it took him by surprise. Clarke thinks it was probably loud enough that anyone in that hallway to hear him. 

Clarke rests her forehead against his chest, completely spent and trying to catch her breath. Bellamy holds up her slumped over body, despite the fact that she’s the one who’s sitting down. They cling to each other, a thin layer of sweat covering them both as their breath slowly evens out. 

As the seconds stretch on and the bliss wears off, the gravity of what just happens seems to settle over the room. Bellamy untangles himself from her and pulls out as Clarke notices the sting of her knees and palms for the first time. He walks over to the trash can on the other end of the room to dispose of the condom and she picks up a box of tissues off the counter. She hops off the counter and turns away from him as she cleans up, somehow embarrassed despite what just happened between them. 

Bellamy doesn’t seem to be as nervous as her, only picks up his t-shirt off the floor. Clarke is reminded that he’s older, that casual sex is nothing new to Bellamy. Clarke remembers the string of women's' names she’s overheard since that first night at Octavia’s birthday. Is that how long she’s been quietly keeping track of him? Well, shit.

“I should go,” Clarke murmurs as he pulls the t-shirt over his head. “Sounds like Octavia is looking for me,” she adds, nodding towards the door. 

Bellamy nods at her and for a minute, she thinks he isn’t going to say anything at all.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he says as she’s reaching for the door. Clarke doesn’t say anything else, just smoothes down her hair and wipes at her lips as she makes her way downstairs, feeling covered in evidence of what just happened. She joins the party with new bandages and a new secret weighing on her shoulders. 

\--∞--

_ Fuck _ , Bellamy thinks.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

_That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen_, is the only clear thought he can form in his mind. The minute he thought she might be interested, he should have talked to her. He should have told her how he feels, taken it slow if she felt the same way. He wasn’t supposed to lose control like that, no matter how incredible she is.

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, hoping to tame it, as he makes his way downstairs to the party. He spots Octavia and Clarke talking to Wells and Harper in the living room and makes his way over to them, ignoring how terrifying it feels to walk up to Clarke.

“You are _not_ going home with Wells,” he hears Octavia arguing as he joins them. 

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Clarke is saying Wells is giving her a ride home but she already agreed she’s sleeping at our place,” Octavia explains. 

_ Great _ , he thinks.  _ She’s already uncomfortable around me. It was too fast, too soon.  _

“Clarke, you’re too drunk to sleep at home,” Octavia argues.

“I’m really not, O. I’m completely fine.”

“You’re parents will smell the vodka on your breath the minute you open your mouth. Clearly you're drunk if you think that’s a good idea.”

Clarke opens her mouth to respond but Octavia cuts her off. “Why are you being so weird?” she accuses, growing increasingly irritated. “You never spend the night at your house on Saturdays.”

It’s true. Bellamy can’t remember a Saturday night without Clarke at the house, whether it’s after a party or just the two of them hanging around the house.

“Fine!” Clarke yells, frustrated. Octavia looks thrown by Clarke’s outburst but doesn’t say anything.

“Lets go home, Bell,” Octavia says, turning her attention to him. 

Bellamy texts Miller that they’re heading out since he has no idea where he is and leads the three of them towards the red corolla parked on the street a few houses down. 

Everyone is quiet on the drive back, the tension between Octavia and Clarke just as palpable as whatever sits between Clarke and him. Clarke is once again an image in his rearview mirror. She’s sitting behind Octavia and looking out the window, her face unreadable to him. 

“Heard back from any schools, O?” he asks, attempting to break the silence.

“Not now, Bell,” she sighs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, confused why it’s suddenly a touchy topic.

Octavia is quiet for a beat before she answers. “I’ll probably hear next month.”

Maybe she’s nervous about her acceptances, which Bellamy can understand. Nobody says anything else the rest of the way home.

\--∞--

The next morning, Bellamy expects Clarke will be there for coffee and pancakes. Everyone had gone straight to bed when they got home, which he thinks is for the best. Still, he wants to talk to Clarke, he wants...well, he doesn’t know exactly, but he wants  _ something _ with the girl he just had the best sex of his life with. He wants something with the girl that gets his heart racing with a look and that makes him laugh like no other. 

Then again, maybe she regrets the whole thing. Maybe that’s why she’s acting strange, because she feels horrible about the whole thing. Maybe he  _ should _ feel horrible about it. Either way, he needs to talk to her about it. He needs to be honest about his feelings, even if she doesn’t reciprocate. 

When Bellamy finally gathers the courage to walk into the kitchen the next morning, he finds Octavia alone at the kitchen table, nibbling on a poptart and getting crumbs everywhere. 

“Finally,” she groans. “I’m starving.”

“Where’s Clarke?” he asks.

“She left early, said she had plans with her dad.”

“Oh,” Bellamy says dumbly, walking over to the coffee pot. “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yeah, she was fine this morning. She apologized and said she was just overtired.”

“Do you believe her?”

Octavia scoffs. “Of course not. Something’s up with her, but it’s Clarke. She’ll talk about it when she’s ready.”

Bellamy really hopes that’s true.

\--∞--

Clarke spends the next week at school simply going through the motions. She’s already caught a pretty terrible case of senioritis and now on top of that, all she can think about is Bellamy Blake. He occupies her mind 24/7 and it’s making her feel insane. She likes Bellamy, but she feels at a loss about the whole situation. She can’t come to terms with that fact it was real. She had sex with Octavia’s brother. She had sex with  _ Bellamy _ . Amazing, mind blowing sex with Bellamy. Whatever she was feeling before, Saturday night only made it worse. 

Clarke knows from Octavia that Bellamy left to go back to Sacramento on Sunday because he had a Sunday evening bar shift. They haven’t said a word to each other since  _ it _ happened, not in person, or via text. In fact, she hasn’t said a word about it to anyone. Despite considering herself to be pretty close-hold regarding her feelings, by the following weekend, she feels like she’s going to burst if she doesn’t talk to someone about it. She needs to tell  _ someone _ , and despite how awkward it might be, she knows _someone_ really means Octavia. Especially since half her anxiety over the whole situation is stemming from her fear of how Octavia will react to it. 

On Saturday, a week after the party, Octavia and her are watching Friends reruns and painting their nails in the Blake living room. Aurora is working, like she always is on Saturday nights, and Clarke decides to rip the bandaid off.

“Octavia, I need to tell you something,” Clarke confesses. “You might be mad, I don’t know.”

Octavia puts her nail polish away. “Is this why you were acting weird last week?”

“Yes,” Clarke admits. 

Octavia watches her expectantly and Clarke swallows, taking one last moment to gather her courage.

“I slept with Bellamy.”

“What!” Octavia questions, eyes nearly bugging out of her head.

“I had-”

Octavia puts her hand up, cutting her off. “When?”

“Saturday, at the party.”

It’s silent for what must only be a few minutes while Octavia seemingly processes this, but the seconds feel like hours to Clarke.

“Say something, please,” Clarke begs. 

“I...I guess I can see it,” Octavia shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m surprised and didn’t see it coming.”

“Me neither.” 

“But it doesn't seem as weird as I thought it would, I guess. So was it just sex or…?” Octavia trails off. 

Clarke hesitates. Does she want to divulge this part to Octavia? She’s never lied to her best friend though, and it doesn’t seem like a good time to start.

“No, I don’t think so,” she admits. “At least, not for me. I’m not saying I’m completely sure how I feel, I just...I don’t know.”

Octavia nods and surprisingly, for the first time in their friendship, doesn't pry any further.

\--∞--

Talking with Octavia had helped her a little, if only because it helped to have a soundboard to voice her concerns against and now she's not keeping any secrets from her. She still spends the second week after the party continuing to think over the whole situation, never one to pass up an opportunity to beat an issue into the ground with her anxiety. 

When she does think about it, she finds that her thoughts melt into fantasies about what it would mean to  _ date _ Bellamy. She imagines riding shot gun in his car, his hand on her thigh, and cuddling on the couch debating TV shows with him. She imagines teasing him about his nerdy interests and how in awe of her art he’d be, just like the faith he showed in her at the diner. 

_ Shit _ , she thinks as she’s sitting in advanced calculus on Friday morning.  _ Shit, I like him. I really like him _ .

The next day, Clarke decides to text him. It’s only when she picks up her phone does she stop to think about how  _ he _ never reached out to  _ her _ . It’s been nearly two weeks and she’s been drowning in her own concerns, never stopping to consider why he never reached out. 

She feels more nervous about reaching out once she considers that, but she knows she still has to go through with it. Besides, she was the one that basically tried to run away from him twice. Actually, she successfully ran away from him twice. Maybe he just thinks she’s avoiding him, which she kind of was, but it’s not too late to explain herself. 

_ Ball’s in your court, Griffin _ , she reminds herself. 

She doesn’t know how any of this might work, but all she can think about is how much she wants to be by Bellamy’s side. If he feels the same, if they start there, then surely it’ll be okay. They can figure the rest out later. 

** _Clarke:_ ** _ Hey Bellamy. I’m sorry I’ve been distant. Do you think we could talk about what happened? _

Clarke sets her phone down beside her and waits.

\--∞--

On Wednesday, nearly two weeks since he slept with Clarke, Bellamy is sitting on his couch with a beer in his hand and contemplating whether he should call her. He still hasn’t heard a word from her, but maybe she just needs him to start the conversation. Maybe all hope isn’t lost. He’s close to caving, but wishes he had some clue as to what's been going through her mind these days. He just wants to know what he's walking into.

He sighs, frustrated, and dials Octavia’s number. She picks up after a few rings.

“Hey, big brother,” she greets him.

“Hey, O. How’s it going at the house?” 

“Fine. Mom’s working tonight.”

Bellamy sighs when she doesn’t say anything else. “You really have a way with words.”

“You’re the one who called!”

“Well, my apologies for checking in,” he mocks. Bellamy drags a few more details out of her, about her classes and friends, before he brings up Clarke.

“Hey, um...how is Clarke doing?” He knows it sounds weird to ask about her. He certainly never has before, not specifically.

“Why do you want to know?” He thinks she sounds pretty smug, but can’t really tell over the phone.

“I was just wondering because you said she was acting weird on Saturday, that's all,” he answers, a bit defensively as he wills his voice to remain passive.

“Bell...Clarke told me.”

He doesn’t answer her, just swallows thickly. 

“About, you know…” she continues, trailing off.

His curiosity about Clarke overshadows how awkward he feels talking about his sex life with his little sister. “I...what did she say?” he finally asks.

Octavia scoffs at that. “Bellamy, I’m not going to be your mediator.”

He gets that, respects that, he really does. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I...I know it’s strange, O, but I really like her. It’s just been growing for a long time.” The words tumble out of him, out of control now that he’s finally talking to someone about this. “I don’t know exactly when it started but I can’t stop thinking about her, and I think I just-”

“Bell,” Octavia cuts him off. Her voice is softer than usual, full of pity that he doesn’t understand. 

“She doesn’t feel the same?” he guesses from her tone. Disappointment starts bleeding out of him at the thought. She already told him she wouldn’t tell him anything, but he can’t help but ask.

“No, I didn’t say that at all. I just-Bell, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Bellamy is taken aback by that. He thought Octavia would be warning him not to hurt her best friend. He wouldn’t even blame her, given his track record with relationships, or lack thereof. He never expected to be the one she thought needed protecting. 

She continues when he doesn’t say anything. “You know I love Clarke. She’s my best friend. Hell, she’s a sister to me. But at the end of the day, she’s not like us. She’s not one of us, Bell.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks, voice strained. 

She sighs. “It means, she’s leaving for Princeton, across the country, in a matter of months. It means she’s going to be spending her time with Princeton classmates, meeting men who are studying to be engineers and doctors and lawyers. Guys she’ll be bringing home to Jake and Abby. Griffins don’t end up with people like us, Bell.”

Bellamy swallows hard. He wants to argue with her, not just for himself but for Octavia too. But she’s right. He doesn’t want her to be, wishes like hell she wasn’t, but she is. 

“You know how much I love you, Bell,” she continues. “You’re the hardest working, the smartest, the  _ best _ person I know. We just...we live in another world than her. I don’t want to see you hurting if... _ when _ she leaves. Especially since-” She cuts herself off abruptly.

“Especially since what?”

“Especially nothing. I just...I guess you guys will do what you’ll do, but I’m only looking out for you, Bell. I love you.”

It’s a strange thing to hear, this fierce protectiveness in her voice. He’s so used to being the one doing the protecting that despite how is heart is already breaking over Clarke, a soft warmth washes over him.

“I know you do, O. I love you too." There's nothing left to say. 

Later that night, he thinks about their conversation as he tosses and turns in bed, realizing just how right she is. Even if Clarke feels the same way, what’s going to happen in the long run? She has her fun with him for a few months, a nice summer fling, before heading off to her Ivy League on the east coast? Where does that leave him? He knows where. It leaves him in the same room he’s laying in now, alone and more heartbroken than he already is.

\--∞--

A few days later, Bellamy gets a text message from Clarke. He sees her name on his lock screen once he finishes his bar shift late Saturday evening or early Sunday morning, depending on how you looked at it. He waits until he’s alone in his car before opening it.

** _Clarke:_ ** _ Hey Bellamy. I’m sorry I’ve been distant. Do you think we could talk about what happened? _

It’s the text he’s been hoping for since that night, the text he’s been pining over. He stares at it for too long, testing his willpower. Then he deletes it, removing any temptation from his grasp, and puts his car in drive.


	7. We've Built it Up to Pull it Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate and happy Thursday if not. Taking a break was really great for me personally and gave me a lot of time to write (and start/finish/cry over Anne with an E...). I really appreciate your patience and your words of encouragement here and on tumblr, you guys are the sweetest and I'm blown away and grateful that you enjoy reading my stories. 
> 
> I'll be updating weekly from now on, new chapters posted every Thursday. For those of you who also read Homesick, I'll be posting a new chapter Sunday and will also be updating weekly every Sunday for that. 
> 
> As a reminder since it's been so long, this story alternates back and forth every chapter between present and past. We're back in the present, immediately after Clarke accepted Cillian's proposal. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the song Atlantis by Seafret which is such an angsty Bellarke song so check it out if you don't know it. I'm actually considering posting the playlists for these stories on a spotify account, as well as just my general the 100 and bellarke playlists. Let me know if that's something any of you would be interested in. 
> 
> Lastly, always feel free to hit me up on tumblr @burninghoneyatdusk.

Bellamy is left frozen, feet seemingly glued to the ground as the rest of the room seems to swarm towards the happy couple as one single mass. He thinks he hears Jake say something, but he doesn’t catch what it is. Someone pats his back and he’s sure it must be his mother, the gesture a familiar relic of his childhood. But he just stares ahead, clutching his glass of wine, as if waiting for something. Except he doesn’t know what that might be. 

Then he feels a tug on his suit jacket and it’s the only person who can snap him back to reality. 

“Daddy? What happened?” Lucie looks up at him, confusion in her eyes. The little crease that forms between her eyebrows is identical to her mother’s. 

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s just…” he trails off, suddenly feeling unprepared. Suddenly feeling alone to handle something as a parent. It’s a terrifying, foreign feeling. In the end, he doesn’t have to finish.

“Oh Luce, we just got some very happy news,” Jake tells her, taking her hand. “We’re going to talk about it with Mom and Dad in a bit, but first why don’t you and I sneak one more cookie while everyone is distracted,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

Having been cut off over an hour ago, Lucie eagerly agrees and heads towards the dessert table on the opposite side of the room, hand in hand with her grandpa. Bellamy sighs in relief at the gesture, running a shaky hand through his hair. 

“Bell, you okay, sweetheart?” his mom asks quietly from beside him. “You want to go get some air?”

That snaps him out of it even more than Lucie, that he might look distressed enough for someone to notice. That he might look distressed enough for someone to realize his true feelings, clear as day on his face. 

“Of course not, I’m fine,” he snaps, forcing his face into some neutral. “This is...I’m happy for them,” he insists. Aurora nods, although he knows neither of them believes the simplicity of that particular sentiment. He needs to say it though, so he can start pretending that it’s real. 

Bellamy takes a deep breath and another sip of his wine as he lets the crowd around Cillian and Clarke begin to clear out. It gives him enough time for the shock to settle and give way to frustration, even anger. They have a daughter to think of and Cillian decided to spring this on their family. Bellamy’s almost certain Clarke didn’t know. Even if it weren’t for the clear shock on her face, he knows she would have talked to him about it. 

Finally, gathering all his courage and praying that his acting skills are better than he believes them to be, he sets his empty wine glass on the bar and walks over to the two of them. He swallows hard when he sees how Cillian has his arm wrapped around Clarke, pulling her close and whispering something into her ear.

He can’t help but think that this isn’t Clarke, how it isn’t the Clarke he knows. She hates these grand gestures, these cheesy public proposals and shows of affection. Doesn’t Cillian know that much about the woman he just proposed to?

_ Sixteen year old Clarke was sprawled out on the Blake couch, feet on his lap. It started out as just another way to irritate him he refused to turn over the TV to her and Octavia when they came home. They wanted to watch some stupid show he had never heard of but he was halfway through a documentary on the fall of the Byzantine Empire, so they’d have to deal. The world didn’t revolve around those two, even if they thought it did at times. _

_ Octavia collapsed into the armchair but given that she was texting with some new guy whose name she hadn’t divulged to Bellamy yet, she didn’t put up much of a fight about the TV. Clarke, being the brat she was, sprawled out on the couch and crowded him into the corner, poking at his side with her feet every few minutes. As if she could annoy him enough to run him out of his own living room. The nerve of that girl. _

_ So there they were, hours later and surely past midnight, with Octavia passed out in the chair and Bellamy and Clarke hate watching Ten Things I Hate About You after Bellamy relinquished control of the remote after the documentary finished. She stopped kicking at him but somehow he ended up stuck with her feet on his lap as she laid on her side, snuggling with the throw blanket that was always draped over the back of their couch. Bellamy slouched on the couch so that he could let his head rest against its back. He was exhausted and really should have just gone to bed, but he just...he didn’t want to leave quite yet, and he wasn’t sure why. It’s not like it fun for him. _

_ “This is so stupid,” she muttered as some guy serenaded the blonde lead from the bleachers in front of half the school. Okay, so maybe he knew it was Heath Ledger because he watched A Knight’s Tale one too many times. Sue him. _

_ “You turned it to this,” he said, rolling his eyes. _

_ “No I turned on Parks and Rec, the only decent thing on by the time your stupid documentary ended. But that ended an hour ago and the remote is too far away,” she complained, gesturing vaguely to where she left it on top of the television. _

_ “I guess it’s not as bad as when she starts crying in front of the entire class reading a poem about him,” she added, continuing her critique. _

_ Bellamy laughed. “Well, we all know we wouldn’t catch Clarke Griffin crying over any boy, you’d have to have feelings for that,” he teased. “Then again, that would also require a boy actually liking you.” _

_ Bellamy let out a grunt when she kicked him in the stomach. Still, he didn’t leave. He was just feeling lazy, that’s all. _

_ “Okay, Princess. Why are you so anti-grand romantic gesture?” _

_ He couldn’t help his curiosity about her attitude. Most girls loved the idea of these, his sister included. He didn’t really understand the appeal either, but then again, he had never been in love. _

_ “Because they’re so...fake. And like, it’s more about everyone seeing how in love they are instead of them being in love. Like you’re...I don’t know, showing someone off instead of paying attention to them.” _

_ “You’re a weird, girl.” _

_ He grunted as she kicked him again. _

_ “Let me guess,” he continued. “Clarke Griffin would just like an official, written contract with the terms of the relationship neatly listed out.” _

_ “You’re an ass” Clarke snapped. He tore his eyes from the television that he’d been mindlessly staring at and looked over at her, but her eyes were still on the movie. _

_ “All I want is someone to be honest, someone to fight for me in small ways everyday, not one giant flash mob or airport run or flashy, extravagant proposal.” _

_ Bellamy hummed in response. _

_ “You’re such a secret wuss, I bet you love this stuff,” Clarke taunted. _

_ “Well that would require choosing one girl, and where’s the fun in that?” _

_ Clarke scoffed at him. “You’re a pig.” There was no real heat behind the jab, which probably had something to do with her heavy eyelids that she seemed to be having trouble keeping open. _

_ “You know, this movie is a lot like The Taming of the Shrew,” he observed, turning back towards the television. _

_ “The what?” _

_ “You know, Shakespeare.” _

_ “You’re such a nerd,” she mumbled. When he glanced at her again, her eyes were already closed. _

Yet, Bellamy thinks she looks happy as he approaches her. He thinks she looks _ really _ happy. He notes the bright smile on her face and thinks maybe he doesn’t know her as well as he thought he did. Maybe he doesn’t know anything at all. Still, even in all of this, he can’t help but feel a warmth somewhere inside him at seeing her happy, even as he’s falling apart. That’s how he knows how much he loves her, but he’s known that for a long time. 

“Happiness looks good on you,” Bellamy greets her as he walks up to them, grabbing Clarke’s attention. She untangles herself from Cillian.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs as he wraps her in a quick hug, keeping it briefer than he usually would. He doesn’t squeeze her tight against him, doesn’t breathe in the scent of her perfume, a soft blend of vanilla, sandalwood, and a hint of frankincense. It’s a scent as familiar as oxygen to him. He doesn’t press his cheek to her head, doesn’t get a subtle whiff of coconut from the shampoo he knows she uses.

He can feel Cillian’s eyes on him, as if assessing him. Her _ fiance’s _ eyes. Bellamy forces himself to pull away as quickly as he had pulled her in.

“Congrats, man,” he tells Cillian, offering him a hand even though it costs him something dear to do so. Bellamy can’t afford to be so obvious about how hard this all is. 

Cillian shakes his hand, his grip strong, and smiles at Bellamy. For his part, the smile seems genuine. It’s nothing like the look Bellamy received while discussing New Year plans. Still, maybe the pressure on his hand says something different. 

“I guess we should talk to Lucie about this tonight,” Bellamy prompts once he pulls his hand away. 

He watches as realization dawns on Cillian, as if he hadn’t even considered her. Maybe he hadn’t. Clarke doesn’t look caught off guard though. He’s sure Lucie was the first thing that ran through her mind. 

“I know, we can sit down and talk with her tonight at my place,” Clarke assures Bellamy. She looks a little apologetic although she’s not the one who should be.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Cillian starts, looking uncomfortable for the first time since Bellamy came over. “I wasn’t thinking-”

“It’s okay,” Clarke assures him, wrapping her arm around his.

Well, it’s really not okay, but Bellamy doesn’t feel like ruining the moment for Clarke. He can manage that much. There’s a beat of silence where none of them seem to know what to say and Bellamy tugs on his ear nervously as he excuses himself, but not without sparing her one more glance. When he looks back, her eyes are already on Cillian again. Maybe some air does sound good.

\--∞--

“Is this pity party invite only?”

Bellamy looks up from where he’s leaning against the brick wall in the alley to find Raven walking towards him, the door to the gallery slamming shut behind her. It’s cold enough that his breath comes out as small clouds and he has to keep his hands stuffed in his pockets for warmth. It feels like he should have a cigarette in his hand or hell, even a drink, but he has to drive tonight. Self-loathing while being a responsible dad is the absolute worst.

“Always the funny one,” Bellamy greets her as she stands next to him. She pulls her peacoat tighter to her body and leans against the bricks, arms crossed. 

“I’m fine,” he insists, his tone harsher than he intended. “Too many people, just needed some air,” he lies. 

“Right. Mr. Charming who talks to people all night at the bar is overwhelmed by all the people.”

“Not sure what you’re getting at, Reyes.”

“Uh huh,” she answers dismissively.

Silence settles between them. It’s not exactly awkward, but it feels like they’re both waiting for something. 

“I mean, I’m just a little surprised is all,” he admits, not able to help himself. “He didn’t even think to talk to us about Lucie.”

“Yeah, that was kind of shitty.”

“And I mean, Clarke doesn’t like this shit,” he continues, ignoring her response. “At least, I don’t think she does. Who knows. I guess I don’t.”

“But she looked pretty happy,” Raven points out. It feels like she’s prodding at him for a specific response. He isn’t going to give it to her. 

“Yeah, she does. That’s all that matters.”

“I like Cillian,” Raven continues. “I mean I know I didn’t officially set them up like I joke about, but I think he’s a good guy. I think he makes Clarke happy.”

“Yeah, Raven. I said I agree,” he sighs. What is she trying to do, taunt him?

“But, if there was something, or _ someone _ , who might make Clarke _ more _ happy...well as her best friend, I would hope that she would get that. I think that’s what she deserves, to be the _ most _ happy.”

“I know she does.”

“Nobody wants to be alone, Bellamy.”

“Clarke isn’t alone.”

Raven sighs, exasperated. “It’s not the same. It’s not enough, and you know it.”

Bellamy doesn’t answer. She’s right, and he does know it. 

“C’mon, Blake. Let’s go home.”

\--∞--

“Alright, bug. Hurry up and go change into your pajamas before Dad gets here,” Clarke instructs as she unlocks and opens the front door for her and Lucie. 

Clarke asked Bellamy to follow them home and she suspects she only has a few minutes before his truck is pulling into the driveway. She toes off her heels and heads to the kitchen to heat up the water for the hot chocolate she promised Lucie. The girl was going to have a serious sugar crash soon but it was the least of her worries tonight. If this conversation isn’t a disaster, then she can let the sugar slide. She leans against the kitchen counter once she puts the kettle on, lifting her hand to take in the sizeable rock now adorning her left ring finger.

Cillian offered to be there when Bellamy and her talked to Lucie, but she didn’t think it would help. It might be too overwhelming for Lucie. If she’s being honest with herself, she also feels like these kinds of conversations are sacred to her and Bellamy. But she needs to reconsider that now. If she’s going to marry Cillian, she’s going to have to make room for him when it comes to Lucie, as foreign as that feels. But wants that. She loves him, she wants this. It’s just a change, that’s all. Change is always a little daunting. 

The kettle whistles just as Lucie pads into the kitchen in her red and green plaid pajamas, climbing onto the counter stool. She pours the water into the mug and quickly mixes it with the chocolate powder. Just as Clarke sets the mug of hot chocolate in front of Lucie, she hears the front door open. 

“In here,” she calls. 

Bellamy emerges a moment later, seemingly a little hesitant as he comes in, which is new for him. He’s taken off his tie and jacket, unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. Clarke tries to shake off the way it makes her stomach swoop.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets Lucie, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he walks by to join Clarke on the side of the counter opposite their daughter. 

His eyes don’t rake over her red dress the way they did in her office. If anything, it feels like he’s studiously averting his eyes from her. Over the years, eye contact has become one of their seamless, most intimate forms of communication. It always felt like they could converse privately in a crowded room just by looking at each other. Clarke hadn’t realized how much she depended on that until he yanks it away from her. She suddenly feels lost and alone, even though he’s standing right beside her.

“Hey Luce,” Clarke starts, turning back to her daughter who has the mug of hot chocolate to her lips. She bites back a smile at the chocolate moustache she wears when she sets it back on the counter. “Dad and I wanted to talk to you about Cillian and the engagement tonight.”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks at them expectantly. 

“Well, Cillian asked me to marry him and I said yes. And so...he and I will be husband and wife, and Cillian will come live with us.”

“Now?” Lucie asks.

Clarke shakes her head. “No not now, but some day.”

Clarke glances at Bellamy, who hasn’t said a word and is gripping the edge of the counter tightly. He must sense her eyes on him because he lets go and stands up straighter.

“Luce, we just want to make sure you’re okay with Cillian becoming part of our family,” Bellamy adds. “If you’re upset or nervous, we want you to talk to Mom and me about it.”

Clarke suddenly remembers Lucie’s drawing of the whole family, how Cillian wasn’t in it. She hadn’t even taken note of that at the time. Sure he’s only been in both their lives for six months, but...does that mean something? Should it?

Everything _ had _ happened so fast. Despite Raven suggesting this might be what Cillian had been planning, she didn’t really believe it was a possibility. But then he was down on one knee and her face was hot from everyone’s eyes on hers, a huge blur of people around them. Then behind Cillian, there was Bellamy. Bellamy, the singular person who stood out to her, who didn’t feel like a blur. The immediate thought in her mind. 

Bellamy, whose breath she could still feel on the back of her neck. Bellamy, who could make her lose her breath simply by trailing his fingers up her back. But this was the same Bellamy who refused to look her in the eye after that happened. She knows Bellamy found her attractive in that dress, but that didn’t mean he wants her. Not really. Not in the way she wants to be wanted. 

Hadn’t same exact thought crossed her mind when she was 18, so many years ago? How a fleeting feeling of lust didn’t mean someone truly wanted you. She learned it back then and she has to remind herself of it now.

She would never learn, never move on, until she made a true and final decision to do so. So she did. Fast or not, right or wrong, that’s what she did tonight. She made the decision to move on...to find happiness elsewhere. With someone who wants her back. She has to stick with that. 

She looks at her daughter, who seems to be thinking about what Bellamy asked.

“I already have _ you _, Daddy. I don’t want another one.”

Clarke feels like her heart has dropped into her stomach like a ball of led. Bellamy looks like he’s been punched. It’s going to be a big change for all of them, it’s going to take some time. That’s why this feels so hard, so wrong. That’s all. 

“Honey, Cillian isn’t replacing Dad,” she assures her. “Nobody will ever do that. Cillian will be family in a different way...another uncle like all your other ones. He’ll just...he’ll live with us, too.”

“Like if Uncle Murphy lived with us?” Lucie asks, sounding a little excited at the theoretical prospect.

Clarke can’t help but let out a small laugh and she doesn’t miss how Bellamy bites down a smirk. Neither of them would have ever guessed Murphy would be Lucie’s favorite, not in a million years. 

“Kind of. But you understand that Cillian and I love each other like Murphy and Emori, right? Like Monty and Harper?”

“Yeah. I know, Mommy.”

“Okay,” Clarke sighs. “Do you have any questions, honey?”

Lucie shakes her head and Clarke tells her to go get ready for bed. She doesn’t seem particularly happy but she doesn’t seem upset either. She seems to understand, and that’s all Clarke can hope for right now. She’s a kid, she needs some time to process all of this. 

When Clarke looks up at Bellamy, she notices that his gaze is on her ring. His eyes snap up to hers when she catches him, truly looking at her for the first time since he walked in. 

“Well, I guess I’m going to head out then.”

“Okay. I’m sorry that...you know, this was all a surprise.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, you didn’t know.” There’s a certain edge to his tone, as if he’s implying someone else has something to apologize for.

“Cillian wasn’t trying to deceive anyone, he just wasn’t thinking of Lucie in all this,” she explains, feeling defensive. 

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at that.

“You know what I mean,” Clarke adds, realizing how that sounded. Like Cillian doesn’t care about Lucie. But that isn’t true, it’s just not easy to start thinking like a parent. It doesn’t happen overnight. Well, it doesn’t always, anyways. 

Bellamy opens his mouth to say something, his shoulders tense in the way they do when he’s about to argue. She knows the stance intimately. But then he closes his mouth again and seems to swallow whatever he had intended to say. He shakes his head, as if to clear it.

“It’s fine, Clarke. I’m going to go say goodnight to Lucie.”

“Okay.”

“Congrats again.”

Clarke nods, but looks down at her bare feet. She feels...she doesn’t know. Anxious, wrong. Not what she should be feeling. But that’s only because of Lucie. It’s only apprehension over Lucie. She waits for Bellamy to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“I mean it, Clarke,” he says, voice softer this time. She looks up and finds genuine eyes looking down into hers. 

“You deserve this,” he adds, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. The hot press of his lips to her skin, however innocent the gesture, makes her dig her nails into her palms. His lips linger just a beat too long to be a goodbye kiss, and yet it still feels quick. Maybe it is a goodbye, but a different kind of goodbye. Something more somber, more permanent. 

Bellamy doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he disappears from the kitchen. 

\--∞--

Clarke pulls into her parents' driveway, eyeing the same familiar and extravagant Christmas decor that she’s known since childhood. Snow has started falling, making everything seem more magical.

White lights are strung from wall to wall, reindeers made of matching white lights adorning the front lawn. She smiles at the one who has a single red light where it’s nose would be. Her dad has always been over the top when it comes to Christmas, but she can’t say she minds. It’s the reason it’s one of her favorite holidays. 

Lucie climbs out of the car the moment she puts it into park. 

“Luce, wait up!” Clarke calls as she climbs out of the car. Lucie is already halfway to the door and doesn’t heed her warning or slow down. Clarke just shakes her head as she locks up and heads inside.

“Hey, Mom,” she greets Abby once she walks into their foyer. She’s helping Lucie out of her coat with a huge smile on her face that’s reserved only for Lucie.

The Griffin’s foyer is as beautiful as the outside, with fake garland intertwined with red ribbon and white lights wrapping their staircase. 

“Hi, honey,” Abby smiles at Clarke, before turning her attention back to Lucie. “Papa is making his cinnamon crumb cookies and I’m sure he could use some help.” 

It doesn’t take much more than that to send Lucie running towards the kitchen. Her daughter is a sugar fiend. 

“Well, bye, then!” Clarke calls after her. “Love you!” 

Abby laughs as Clarke shakes out her hair. It doesn’t snow often in Arkadia, as close as it is to the ocean, but wet flurries are raining down tonight. 

“Thanks for watching her. I can’t believe we waited this long again to go shopping, Christmas is a week and a half away and the mall is going to be an absolute mess.”

Abby scoffs. “As if it’s a chore to watch her.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Clarke laughs. “Still, I appreciate it.”

“Head still spinning from last night?” Abby asks, probably noticing her ring again when she runs a hand through her hair. 

Clarke examines her hand again, trying to get used to it.

“Yeah, I can’t believe that was only 24 hours ago.”

“How did your talk with Lucie go?”

“It was okay, I think. She seems to understand everything and...well I told her I wanted her to tell me if she has more questions or if anything upsets her. I’m not sure what else there is to do right now.”

“I don’t think there is,” Abby agrees. “We’ll let you know if she mentions it tonight.”

“You know, if anything, Bellamy was the one acting a little strange last night,” Clarke says. 

Abby simply hums, but she’s wearing that knowing expression that mothers are experts in. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You look like you want to though, is there something I’m missing here?”

Abby shakes her head at her daughter, but not with any malice. 

“Hey,” she says, stepping forward and taking her face in her hands. “I’m so happy for you, honey. All I want is for you to be happy, and Cillian makes you happy. Everything else will fall into place.”

Clarke nods and gives her mother a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay, I’m late to meet Bellamy. I‘ll call when I’m on my way back.”

\--∞--

Clarke spots Bellamy waiting for her outside of Second Dawn, the coffee shop known to have the best peppermint mochas in the city. He’s wearing jeans and a forest green sweater with his long black peacoat over it, face buried in his phone. Even from a distance, she can see how the flurries get caught in his curls, making his hair glisten. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Clarke greets him once she’s a few feet away.

He looks up at her and gives her the same crooked smile that has given her butterflies since she was a teenager. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Damn, the line is long,” Clarke complains as they step behind the last person. 

“Always is. We could always go somewhere else...” he suggests, trailing off. 

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Clarke admonishes, looking up at him only to realize he was clearly joking. There’s a teasing smile on his face and a crinkle in his eyes.

Clarke and Bellamy have been taking part in this small Christmas tradition since the December that Lucie was born. Every year, without fail, they start at Second Dawn before doing their Christmas shopping. It’s mostly for Lucie’s gifts from Santa, but they usually end up with gifts for their families and their friends’ white elephant exchange while they’re at it. 

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” she says, shoving him with her shoulder.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Clarke.”

“So, how was Lucie today?” he adds after a moment. 

Clarke wrings her hands nervously, which is ridiculous. Why is it so awkward to talk about the engagement with Bellamy? She’s going to have to get over it, especially since Bellamy is acting totally normal at the moment. It’s _ her _ who is acting like an idiot. 

“She seemed okay, I think she understands everything. I think it’ll just be an adjustment period.”

Bellamy nods, hands in his pockets, but doesn’t say anything.

“For everyone,” she adds.

Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to respond before the woman at the register is calling for them.

“What can I get for you two?”

“Two peppermint mochas, one with almond milk and an extra shot of syrup,” Bellamy orders. 

Clarke feels the smallest tug of her heart at the way he knows her order by heart. Bellamy looks like he’s about to argue with her when she pulls her wallet out. 

“Don’t start, Bell. I remember very clearly you got last year’s order. And the year before that, which you lied about last year.” 

Clarke knows he can’t argue with that and hands her card over while shooting Bellamy a smug look. He just rolls his eyes but not without letting a smile slip onto his face.

“Oh wow, that’s absolutely stunning,” the cashier gushes, noticing Clarke’s ring as she hands her the card. 

“Oh, thank you,” Clarke says dismissively, quickly pulling her hand back.

The cashier doesn’t pick up on her discomfort. “I’ve always been worried about what my boyfriend will pick out for me, but you clearly know what you’re doing,” she tells Bellamy, swiping Clarke’s card. 

“Oh we’re not-” Clarke starts.

“I’m not…” Bellamy trails off.

“_ Oh _, I’m sorry.” She has the decency to look sheepish. “I just saw you guys in line and then the ring...nevermind, sorry,” she apologizes again, handing Clarke back her card. 

“It’s fine,” Clarke assures the girl, her voice a bit stilted. She follows Bellamy to the pick-up counter to wait for their drinks. Neither of them say anything and time seems to move slower than normal. Why is this so awkward? They should be laughing this off. 

“You have Lucie’s list, right?” Bellamy asks, breaking their silence in a voice that seems higher pitched than normal. He must think so too, because he clears his throat.

“Yeah, right here.” Clarke pulls the paper out of her pocket, unfolding it before she hands it to Bellamy. 

Bellamy’s smile widens as he reads the list.

“What?” Clarke asks. 

“Oh, just looking at the collection of Greek Myths for Children she asked for,” he shares, his voice smug.

“Yeah, yeah. Our daughter is a nerd thanks to you, congratulations,” she laughs.

“Says the Valedictorian of Arkadia High,” he retorts. 

Clarke doesn’t get a chance to respond before their drink order is up and his quip is forgotten as they make their way the few blocks to the mall.

“God, I love this time of year,” Clarke gushes, looking up at where wreaths hang off street lamps and christmas lights of every color adorn the storefronts in Arkadia’s shopping district. 

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his mocha. “And Lucie’s birthday month,” he adds.

“And New Year’s Eve,” Clarke adds wistfully.

Bellamy takes another sip before he replies. “New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah, well…” Clarke suddenly feels stupid. She always felt like New Year’s was _ their _ holiday, ever since the mess that was the New Year’s a year before Lucie was born. The New Year’s that, if she’s being honest, has always been her favorite. Maybe he doesn’t really think of it that way though.

“I don’t know, we’ve just always had fun on New Year’s,” she finishes. “Just another reason to love December.”

Bellamy laughs lightly. “Yeah, we have. Although, given our first New Year’s together, I guess it could only go up from there.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think that was my favorite,” Clarke admits. 

“You know, despite the bruises and general chaos, me too,” he laughs. 

“Of course, it was also free, thanks to that mystery couple,” Clarke adds. “What could possibly compete with free pancakes and coffee?”

Clarke expects Bellamy to laugh at that, but he remains quiet. She thinks he might even tense up beside her but it’s hard to tell through the layers and while they’re walking. 

“Right,” he says finally, as if realizing he forgot to answer. He does let out a little laugh, but Clarke thinks he sounds worlds away.

\--∞--

Bellamy and Clarke make quick work of the mall, the expert partners that they’ve become over the years. They split up to cover more ground when necessary, always coming back together. A couple hours later, they’re finally close to finished. 

Standing in line to check out, Clarke pulls the list out while Bellamy holds the pile of books and coloring books from Lucie’s favorite bookstore. Okay, his kid is a little spoiled, but she deserves it. Just like her mother. 

“Looks like we just need to hit the art store across the way to pick up the water colors and…” Clarke flips the list over, as if looking for a missing item. “I guess that’s it, actually.”

“Might be a record time for us.”

“I’m just relieved that they haven’t run out of anything on her list given how long we waited. I don’t know where the month went.”

“Yeah, with-”

“Wow, that ring is just _ gorgeous _, honey.” Bellamy looks up to find the older woman in front of them staring at Clarke’s engagement ring. 

“Oh, thank you,” Clarke says, clearly caught off guard by the compliment. 

“How did you do it?” the woman asks, turning her attention to Bellamy.

“How did I what?” he asks, equal parts bewildered and irritated.

“How did you _ propose _, dear?” the woman asks, as if the question was an obvious one.

“I didn’t,” Bellamy snaps in a harsh tone. It’s like it was an instinct, he didn’t mean it to come out that way. Both the woman and Clarke look a bit taken aback.

“He just means he's not my fiance,” Clarke explains, her voice softer than usual, as if she’s doing some kind of social damage control on Bellamy’s behalf. 

“Oh, well. Congratulations, honey,” the woman says, a bit hesitant now. She spares Bellamy one more reproachful glance before turning back around. 

_ Good _ , Bellamy thinks. _ Everyone can just mind their own damn business _. 

He knows Clarke must think his rudeness was strange given that he’s always been the more outgoing of the two of them. He spends his nights sweet talking bar customers and he usually doesn’t mind small talk with strangers. Still, she doesn’t question him about it.

Bellamy sighs, suddenly exhausted and ready for the night to be over. He never thought he would say that about a Christmas shopping trip with Clarke, but that’s just how it is now. He can’t take one more compliment about her ring or question about her engagement from another nosy stranger. 

Aside from the obvious reasons (i.e. he’s hopelessly in love with her), the questions also hurt so much because if they would just stop asking, then he could almost pretend that he _ is _ Clarke’s fiance. But then they do ask, and every variation of _ he’s not _leaves both of their lips at once. It hurts anew every single fucking time when they correct someone. Which really, is completely absurd. He was never going to end up with Clarke, to propose to her, so he’s not sure why his mind has allowed this particular fantasy. 

It’s only been 24 hours, but he knows already that he needs to get a grip on his feelings, needs to stop himself from spiraling even further despite that he feels more out of control with every minute that passes. Bellamy has always been an emotional person, has leaned heavily on his heart when making decisions. Hell, usually his heart itself makes the decision and not always with his permission. Keeping his feelings for Clarke locked away for so long has been the hardest thing he’s ever done, like he’s fighting against every natural instinct in his bones. It drains him everyday. Still, he’s managed. He keeps locks that pandora’s box tightly. 

But this engagement...it’s thrown him through a loop, to say the least. Everything seems ten times harder than it did just yesterday. Even her dating Cillian the past six months hadn’t dug into him quite like this engagement has. Why is that? Did he write Cillian off, thinking all along that they wouldn’t last? If that’s true, it makes him a horrible person. It means he was counting on something not working out for Clarke, something that makes her happy.

Besides, he always knew she would marry someone else some day. Of course she would, it’s _ Clarke _. This was part of the plan that he always expected her to follow, what he always envisioned for her. Cillian deserves her- he’s kind, from a good family. He’s a doctor. This is all part of the plan. It really shouldn’t feel this terrible, given how predictable it all was, and yet it does. 

\--∞--

“God, I love this place,” Clarke says with a childish grin as they walk into the art store. Bellamy smiles too, her happiness contagious to him.

“You look like a kid at Disney,” he teases. 

“This is _ much _ better than Disney,” she quips, practically skipping off towards the water colors while Bellamy trails behind. 

“Hmmmm.” Clarke searches the shelves for what Lucie asked for and Bellamy just waits beside her. Art supplies is her speciality, he wouldn’t know the difference between half the stuff in here. 

Then Clarke tucks her hair behind her ear as she searches, a habit since she cut it to her shoulders a year or so back. It’s then when he notices that she spun her ring around, the diamond now hidden. His stomach drops at the gesture. She noticed how uncomfortable he is. She feels like she has to dim down her happiness because of him. He hasn’t hated himself this much in a long time.

“Ah, the last one!” Clarke leans on her toes and reaches for a water color set on one of the higher rows. 

“Awesome.” Guilt swirls in his stomach.

They turn to head towards the front of the store to check out, but don’t get very far. 

“Bellamy!” a familiar voice from behind them calls out. When he turns around, it’s Roma Bragg heading towards them. 

Okay, this night is officially the worst Christmas shopping trip they’ve ever had.

“Hey, Roma,” he greets her, attempting to remain friendly. At the very least, he needs to prove to Clarke that he’s okay.

“Clarke,” Roma greets her once she catches up to them. Her voice is light and friendly, but it’s clear that Clarke was an afterthought. 

“Hi, how are you?” Clarke asks. 

Bellamy glances at her, suddenly remembering Lucie’s comment about Clarke not liking Roma. With everything going on, he had forgotten about it. He searches for any sign of irritation now, but he should know better than to think he would find it. Clarke has always been better at managing emotions, at slipping on masks when convenient. 

“Oh, just grabbing a few last minute things for Owen. You know how it is, just when you think you’re ready for the holidays, there’s always something else.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. We can relate,” Clarke laughs, but Roma’s attention is already back on Bellamy.

“You’re a hard one to get in touch with. Did you get my texts about setting up that playdate?”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry, this month has been crazy. I promise, we’ll get back to you this week.”

Bellamy catches Roma give Clarke a weary glance at the phrase _ we’ll _. She looks disappointed for a moment, but recovers quickly. 

“That would be great! Well, you guys have a great holiday if I don’t see you.”

\--∞--

“I didn’t know she wanted to set up a playdate,” Clarke mentions as they get in line. 

“Yeah, I totally forgot. It was the day of Octavia’s...thing, at dinner.”

“Oh.”

“Is that cool with you?” Bellamy again searches her face, looking for any hint of...anything.

“Yeah, of course,” she says breezily. 

“Okay.”

“You know, you should just ask her out, she’s clearly interested in more than a playdate for the kids,” Clarke adds a moment later. 

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her.

“What? She’s pretty, she’s nice, she’s been into you forever.”

Bellamy scoffs. “That was a long time ago,” he points out.

“What? You don’t think she’s pretty anymore?” Clarke questions. Her voice is a little too high pitched. Bellamy recognizes it as the voice she uses when she insists she’s fine about something, only to start an argument about it later.

“I didn’t say that,” Bellamy counters.

“I just think you should ask her out, give it a shot.” Despite her words being encouraging, her tone is one of annoyance. He can’t win with this woman.

“Okay, maybe I will,” he huffs, his own irritation growing.

At what, he isn’t even sure. Maybe he’s feeding off her own strange behavior, maybe he’s upset at the idea that she wants Bellamy to see someone else. That she isn’t torn up at the idea of him with someone else like he is about Cillian. 

“Good.” She says it like she’s won an argument, but remains tense. 

“_ Good _,” he agrees, a little too forcefully. 

It’s at this exact moment he decides he _ is _ going to finally give Roma a call. He certainly doesn’t have to worry about what Clarke will think about it, that much is apparent. 

\--∞--

When they walk out of the mall, the wet snow that is verging on sleet continues coming down steadily. It gets caught in Clarke’s hair, in her eye lashes, and Bellamy resists the urge to wipe the drops from her cheek with his thumb.

They haven’t said a word since the store and the air once again feels heavy between them. The realization that this is becoming a normal occurrence is nothing short of heartbreaking. 

“Uh, where to for dinner?” Clarke asks, finally breaking their silence.

Suddenly, he just can’t. He can’t sit across the table from Clarke feeling like this, can’t sit through their waitress assuming that they’re engaged. He can’t tell one more person that they’re _ not _ engaged. He can’t sit through Clarke suggesting he ask the waitress out because she’s cute, so why not? He just can’t.

“I’m actually not feeling the greatest.”

Suddenly, the tension in Clarke disappears, replaced by a look of concern that makes his stomach flip. She brings her hand to his forehead, icy against his warm skin. He wishes it could stay there, that any part of her at all could simply hold onto him and never let go.

“It’s just a headache,” he explains as Clarke removes her hand. Despite the coolness of her hand, it feels like she takes all the warmth with her. “But I think I’m going to call it a night all the same.”

“Well, okay. Raincheck?”

“Yeah of course.” He gives Clarke a peck on her cheek as a goodbye, not letting his lips linger for even a millisecond like he usually does.

Bellamy spares her one last glance once he’s half a block away, only to find that she hasn’t moved, that she’s watching him go. She gives him a half hearted wave, which he mimics before turning back around.


	8. Follow Me Through an Empty Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song Ava by Famy.

**~6 1/2 Years Ago**

Bellamy drives down the dark highway late into the night, one of the few cars on the road. He keeps the windows down, the fresh air helping him to stay awake as he drives the familiar route from Sacramento to Arkadia. 

It being the end of May, the air is warm with a trace of sea salt that grows stronger the closer he gets to Arkadia. He hasn’t been to Arkadia since the party in March, about two months ago. Usually he tries to make it home once a month, but to say he hasn’t felt like coming home would be an understatement. He’d be lying if he claimed he wasn’t avoiding Clarke, but a few weeks later, Octavia was added to the list of people he didn’t know how to talk to.

_ It was halfway through April when Bellamy called Octavia to check in with her. She should have been hearing back from colleges by then and he was eager to hear where she got in. Octavia isn’t the best student but she’s smart enough to get in somewhere and Bellamy thought she had a decent shot at some athletic scholarships. _

_ After he questioned her about it on the phone that day, there was a long pause that made Bellamy nervous. _

_ “Bell, I’m not going to college,” she confessed, after an exasperated sigh. _

_ “O, don’t worry, you’ll get in somewhere. Don’t worry about the scholarships either, between the money I’ve saved and some loans we can make it work.” _

_ “No, Bellamy. I didn’t apply to college. To any colleges. I don’t want to go.” _

_ “What-what are you talking about?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice. “What do you mean you didn’t apply to any?” He’s tried and failed to remain calm. _

_ “I never wanted to go to college, you never even asked what I wanted,” she accused, clearly as frustrated with him as he was with her. _

_ “That was our dream, O. You could be the first in our family to go to college, do you know how important that is? To be the first in our family to get that kind of education?” _

_ “No Bell, that was YOUR dream!” she yelled at him. He felt taken aback by the anger in her voice. _

_ “Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” he said, ignoring her outburst. If they could just make a plan B right, everything would be fine. “You’ll send in some applications now and just start somewhere in the spring. You can take a few classes at Ark Community College so you don’t fall behind, you can-” _

_ “Bellamy!” she yelled at him, cutting him off. “I’m not going, Bell,” she repeated, softer this time. It was enough to stun him into silence as it all sunk in. “Even if I decide to go one day, I’m never going to use your money. You’ve worked your ass off, you should be the one to use it for school. You’re the smart one, the nerd who wants to go to school,” she added, fondness creeping into her voice. It wasn’t enough to distract him from the anger he felt. This was their plan, and what now? She was going to just make this huge decision without him? _

_ “What are you going to do, O? Work three jobs like Mom and I just so you can get by?” _

_ “No-” she started. She paused, as if thinking. “That’s why I’m enlisting.” _

_ Right before he descended into complete panic mode, he thinks he heard her suck in her breath as if preparing herself for the blow from hundreds of miles away. _

_ “You’re what?!” _

_ “I’m-” _

_ “No,” he cut her off. “No, no, no. You’re not allowed, that’s absolutely not happening, Octavia.” _

_ “Bellamy,” she tried, voice even and probably trying to stay calm for the both of them. “This is my decision, and it’s final. This is something that I’ve thought about for a long time and I’m sure it’s what I want. If I decide to go to school someday in the future, the government will pay for it. It’s a win-win.” _

_ “Not for me,” he snapped. “There’s nothing good about my baby sister in an army, going off to war.” _

_ “Bellamy, this is happening. I love you so much, and I hope you can get on board before I leave for training after graduation. But it’s happening, regardless of if you do.” _

_ Long, awkward silence stretched between them as she waited for him to respond. He had nothing to say though and eventually she was the one to hang up. The click of the call ending felt like a punch to the gut. _

They didn’t talk for weeks after the phone call and he only kept tabs on her through their mom. His mom, who to his further bewilderment, is supporting Octavia’s decision. Mid-May, after nearly a month of not talking, he was surprised to receive a call from Octavia. Bellamy’s always the one who caves first when they fight. Even as they chatted about school and work, the conversation felt stinted by awkward pauses and tension that bled through the phone line. 

He wants to support her, he really does, but the whole decision feels like a personal betrayal of sorts. They had a plan. A _ good _ plan. He’s worked so hard for her and now she’s going to give that up, is going to unnecessarily put herself in harm’s way. Still, despite everything, he would never miss her graduation. So he drives onward, towards the sister who’s slipping through his fingers and her best friend who he never had to begin with.

\--∞--

The morning of graduation, Clarke stares at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, mindlessly applying her makeup as a familiar jumble of thoughts bounce around in her head. Bellamy ignoring her, Octavia enlisting, saying goodbye to her home and her friends, to everything she’s ever known. All of it feels like too much sometimes. Thankfully, she’s been so busy with end of the year exams and graduation preparation that most days she can force herself to move through the motions. Still, the change ahead of her...it’s _ a lot _.

Clarke tries not to think about Bellamy too often, but it’s not an easy feat given her friendship with Octavia and the fact she spends nearly every weekend at the Blake house. Clarke had clung to her phone that weekend she sent the text, hopeful she would get any kind of response. Hell, even if he rejected her, at least they could talk about it. At least she could get some closure before she left. By Monday, she knew that he must have seen it. She knew that he must have ignored it, decided to blow her off. She felt like her heart was in her throat for a week. 

Clarke tried to brush it off, pretend it didn’t hurt. Other girls in her class had casual hook ups all the time, Octavia included. She should’ve been able to move on. No one besides Octavia even knew about it and she didn’t even tell Octavia that she texted him. No one in the world knew how upset she was over the whole thing or about how much she thought about him. She doesn’t tell Octavia or anyone else how her mind seems to always drift off to black curls and freckles at any given moment. When her thoughts go there, she feels broken and rejected all over again. The cold, hard truth is, he just doesn’t like her, doesn’t want her, doesn’t think of her as more than a good time, a one off. It’s a hard truth to swallow, but she needs to accept it. She thinks she can, that she will, in time. 

Clarke has always been great at rationalizing situations, compartmentalizing when she needs to and leading with her head. Wasn’t she always the cool water to Octavia’s fire. She can’t explain why it’s so hard this time. Still, she tries. With only two months left of school, she tries to lock Bellamy away in a buried corner of her mind and remind herself of the new life she’ll be starting come August.

Besides Bellamy, Octavia enlisting is yet another thing that has her feeling down as school comes to an end. Octavia had mentioned the idea in passing a few times, but Clarke never took the consideration seriously. It’s not that she disapproves of the decision like Bellamy does, but when all the papers were signed and finalized, it hit her hard. She had expected to at least have one last summer with her best friend. Instead, she has to say goodbye in just three days because of Octavia’s training. Her other friends have long since made summer travel plans or have early university summer programs to attend. In three days’ time, she’ll be alone for two months. 

Suffice it to say, Clarke spends a lot of May in tears because of the damn Blake siblings. Secret, embarrassing tears. She chalks up all these emotions to graduation and leaving her friends and comfort zone behind for college. That must be why she’s felt so sensitive, so on edge lately.

Clarke hasn’t forgotten her childhood, the days when making friends was far from easy. She’s certainly become better at coming out of her shell over the years, but she’s afraid that’s largely because she’s had Octavia by her side for so long. Bold, enigmatic Octavia, who breaks the ice with the grace of a sledge hammer and somehow still wins over an entire room. She draws people to her like moths to a lamp and Clarke’s not sure who she is without her. She’s not sure if she has any light of her own. Maybe without O, she’ll just lost in the dark. So maybe given these fears, it does make sense she would be a little more emotional than usual. 

In spite of it all, Clarke is still excited about graduation. She managed to snag the Valedictorian position from Wells during their last semester, beating him by a slim .2 points. She’s promised to hold this over his head for the rest of their lives. So on the morning of her graduation, she’s ready to enjoy one last celebration with her friends.

One small comfort is the fact that three of her best friends will be in the Northeast with her, even if they’re not down the street like they are now. Wells will be at Yale, Monty at MIT, and Harper at Northeastern, the latter two deciding to stay together. Jasper happens to be the only one actually staying on the west coast, but he’ll be down south at San Diego State, far from Arkadia. Somehow, Arkadia will continue on without them. It’s a strange feeling. 

Clarke is sliding on her graduation dress, a classy white sundress with a high neckline, when she feels the familiar rush of nausea come over her. She tries to breath through her nose, but slides the dress back off, just in case. She’s had a strange bug for the last week or so. Or maybe the last two weeks, or even three. The past month has been a complete whirlwind, so she doesn’t really remember when it started. 

The one thing Clarke is certain of is that her mom would have overreacted and immediately dragged her to the doctor had she told her. Clarke had too much on her plate and didn’t have the time to deal with it. Besides, it usually only comes in the morning, and only sometimes does she actually throw up. She used to get nauseous in the mornings from low blood sugar, so it’s probably just that. That, coupled with all this anxiety over her future, must be making her sick. It’s not like she has a fever or any other symptoms. 

As if on cue, she runs into the bathroom and barely makes it to the toilet before she’s throwing up the meager contents of her stomach, which is only water and coffee this early in the morning. As she cleans up, she admits to herself that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to see a doctor if she isn’t feeling better by next week. It’s not like she’ll have anything else to do.

\--∞--

The morning of her graduation, Bellamy paces outside of Octavia’s door trying to remember what it was like to talk to his baby sister when things were easier. When the only thing she was headstrong about was what kind of pizza they were ordering and whether she could watch television before she finished her homework. He hesitates for one long moment, sighing and running a hand through his hair before he gathers the courage to knock. 

“Yeah?” Octavia calls from the other side of the door. Bellamy wonders if this is how it’ll be from now on - something always between them.

Bellamy pops his head into her room but doesn’t enter all the way. “Can I come in, O?” he asks, voice unsure.

She’s standing in front of her mirror with her back to him, curling the ends of her hair. “I suppose,” she answers, looking up to make eye contact with him via the mirror. 

Bellamy moves to sit down on the end of her bed, taking in her room. It’s an accumulation of her entire childhood since they moved into the house when she was five. Old barbies stuffed in a box under the bed, a bookshelf lined with everything from Junie B. Jones and the Magic Treehouse to Twilight and The Hunger Games. Makeup is strewn across her desk now but it doesn’t cover the crayon stains from long ago. 

“You look beautiful,” he tells her. _ And grown up _, he thinks. She’s wearing a pretty floral sundress with short sleeves, more conservative than the dresses he’s seen her wear to parties with Clarke.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, continuing with her hair.

“Hey, O,” he starts. “You know how proud I am, right?”

Octavia sets down the curling iron and turns to face him. She crosses her arms, as if bracing herself.

“I don’t,” she snaps. “Not with the way you’ve been acting.”

Bellamy pats the bed beside him and after a moment of consideration, she relents and sits down next to him.

“You know how I’m a total asshole?”

“All my life,” she quips. Bellamy lets out a laugh and Octavia just smirks.

“Well, sometimes how much I love you makes me a total asshole. Like when I punched Sterling in the face when you were 15.”

Octavia rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the memory. “That’s not an excuse.”

“No, it’s an explanation, but not an excuse. It doesn’t make it right. I’m sorry, O, for not supporting you in your decision. I just want the very best for you and the idea of you so far away from us, possibly in danger...it makes me feel like I’m going crazy. But I know I need to trust you more, because you’re incredible and you’ve only proved yourself capable of everything you’ve set your mind to since the moment you were born.”

Octavia doesn’t answer right away, just looks down at her hands in her lap for a moment. 

“I’m worried I won’t,” she admits.

“Won’t what?”

“Won’t live up to that. Won’t be capable this time. I really want it, but sometimes I’m not sure I’m up for this, Bell. They’re going to look at me like I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. I did this because for once in my life, I just want something to fight for. But I don’t know if I’m good enough for this fight.”

Bellamy shakes his head at that. A selfish whisper of voice inside him tells him to latch onto this, to encourage her fears and convince her that staying home is for the best. But that’s not the way he wants to love her, not the way he ever has. He never wants to stop lifting her up, standing by her side as she tackles her fears. 

“O, you’re not a little girl anymore. Not only are you up for this, you’re going to excel. You’re going to lead.”

“No.” She shakes her head, letting out a humorless laugh. “I’m not a leader, not like you. Or Clarke.”

Bellamy swallows hard, pushing past the mention of Clarke. “O, stop. Neither of us could do what you’re about to do. It’s not just about a fight, you’re committing to something. To a cause, to your people. To something bigger than yourself. You’re going to give people hope.” 

Octavia surprises him by throwing her arms around him. “I love you, big brother,” she whispers as he hugs her back tightly. It’s like she’s five years old again, begging him to check for monsters in her closet.

_ “Hey,” he would say to her, his voice soothing. “What does Mom tell us we say to slay the monsters?” _

_ “I am not afraid,” she would repeat to him. _

_ “Good, say it again.” _

_ “I am not afraid.” _

Bellamy hopes she’ll always remember that. He hopes it’ll provide her with even a fraction of the comfort it did as a child. He thinks she’ll need that.

Octavia leans back to face him. “You know, Bell, I just want the very best for you too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m not sure you do. Go to school, Bell. Do something for yourself for once, you’ve taken care of us long enough. Mom will be fine, and so will I.”

Bellamy’s not sure exactly how to follow Octavia’s advice, but maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time he starts making some decisions for himself and his own happiness. School and eventually a career he loves, not just a string of jobs to pay the bills. Hell, he’s never even left California. He could travel, see the world. Maybe it’s worth a shot, but he has time to think about it. For now, he just wants to celebrate his sister and be there for his mom in her absence. 

\--∞--

Bellamy sits on a plastic folding chair next to his mom on the football field of Arkadia High, facing the makeshift stage where the school board is sitting, waiting to pass out diplomas. The graduates are seated in front, closest to the stage, clad in maroon and white graduation gowns and caps. 

Bellamy can see the back of Octavia’s head, seated near the front with the rest of the B’s. Because he has no self control or sense of self preservation, his eyes skim for blonde waves until they land on the back of Clarke’s head, adorned with a maroon cap. He smiles to himself as she laughs heartily at something that Monty whispers to her. The way she throws her hand to her cap in surprise to keep it from falling off when she throws her head back in laughter makes Bellamy tingle with joy and some strange sense of anticipation from head to toe.

“What are you smiling at?” Aurora asks, elbowing him lightly.

“Nothing,” he stutters. “Just- just O. I’m just proud of her.”

“Me too,” his mom agrees. “I’m glad you guys got to talk.”

“Yeah. We’re going to be okay.”

The ceremony starts and Bellamy spaces out as the school officials give succinct, cookie-cutter remarks. But then Clarke is walking onto the stage to give her Valedictorian speech and he’s sucked in completely, unable to tear his eyes from her or hear anything but her voice echoing over the crowd. Her speech is nothing groundbreaking but it makes him smile all the same, simply because it’s so _ her _. She talks about their class and the importance of friendship, and makes Bellamy and the rest of the audience laugh with quick-witted remarks sprinkled throughout. 

Wells gives the next speech as the class President and Bellamy misses the entire first half of it because he’s watching Clarke walk back to her seat and smile as people lean over to whisper short congratulations before turning their attention back to Wells. Soon the officials are handing out diplomas and Bellamy swallows tears when both Octavia and Clarke walk across the stage to receive them. He hopes they manage to remain friends for a long time, despite how different their futures look right now. Maybe Octavia thinks Clarke isn’t like them, and maybe that’s true, but it’s still a strange thing to consider Octavia without Clarke, Clarke without Octavia. 

When the ceremony is over, Octavia rushes over to Bellamy and his mom as quickly as she can manage in her high wedges. It’s Bellamy she hugs first but she’s in Aurora’s arms just as quickly as they both shower her with congratulations and love. 

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” her mom tells her, tugging gently on one of her curls.

They manage to take a few photos but it isn’t long before Octavia is pulled away by a classmate. His mom and him chat as they wait for her but then he catches a glimpse of Clarke a little ways away. She’s smiling ear to ear and talking with her hands as if she’s telling a story. He doesn’t know the people she’s talking with. 

“Hey, I’m going to go tell Clarke congrats,” he tells Aurora, nodding towards Clarke.

“Okay,” Aurora nods, a subtle curiosity in her tone. Bellamy doesn’t elaborate, just walks over to Clarke and the three people she’s talking with, hands in his pocket.

“Hey, Clarke.” Bellamy knows he’s interrupting but he isn’t sure he’ll get another opportunity to talk to her and can’t find it in him to care about being rude to the random people she’s with. Her classmates take his arrival as a cue to leave and say their goodbyes to Clarke, wishing her luck at Princeton.

“Bellamy,” Clarke greets him in a clipped tone, turning to face him once she’s said her goodbyes. She turns up her chin at him, her expression both cool and haughty. It reminds him of the same spoiled girl he used to hate, but this time it just feels like a challenge. It only sparks his attraction to her. 

It’s on the tip of Bellamy’s tongue, addressing what happened. Maybe he should just apologize for the whole thing, if that’s what she wants. But could he apologize, even bring it up, without spilling his real feelings right then and there? 

“Just wanted to say congratulations. Your speech was great,” he tries instead. 

“Right.” She looks away from him, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, thanks.”

Bellamy waits a beat, seeing if she’ll say anything else that might indicate she wants this conversation to continue, but she doesn’t. It’s at this point he realizes she isn’t just uncomfortable, she’s _ pissed _. She’s angry with him. He supposes he deserves it. Yet, if he’s being honest with himself, he didn’t think that she would even care enough about him to be angry about any of it. It’s only him, after all. 

“Excited for Princeton?” he tries again. 

“Yup,” she answers, popping her lips on the P and crossing her arms. “Anyways, I’ve got to get going. My parents are waiting and were heading to Wells’s graduation party.”

“Right, okay.”

Clarke just nods and turns to go. She’s already a few steps away when she turns back around towards him again, her expression hesitant. He’s embarrassed that she finds him standing right where she left him, simply watching her go. 

It seems to surprise her because her lips make a little O when she notices he hasn’t moved, but he still can’t tear his eyes from her. 

“Um, will you be there?” she asks. “At Wells’s party, I mean.” 

Bellamy shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Her face remains a neutral mask and she simply nods before walking away again, this time for good. Bellamy knows it’s for the best, this new ice between them. Without Octavia around, there’s officially nothing to tether them to one another. They can both move on.

\--∞--

On Thursday, nearly a week after graduation, Clarke lies in her bed binging old NCIS reruns. It’s only about 1pm but she’s already been asked twice by Netflix if she’s still watching. She scoffed at that, clicking play on the remote and taking a sip of the tea she made in hopes of settling her stomach. 

She’s officially alone. She has the whole summer ahead of her and she’s already beginning to grow a restless. It’s amazing how much time she spent alone entertaining herself as a child. It’s made her realize how much she’s truly changed since then. She got used to always having people around, _ her _people. Jasper, Wells, Monty, and Harper. The latter two have left for a summer road trip together while Wells is at a pre-law summer program at Yale and Jasper is at a camping summer program through San Diego State. 

Then of course, Octavia is the loudest absence. Her friend who was supposed to be around this summer. Her friend who made a summer bucket list with her of all the things they would do before Clarke left for school. Her friend whose home was always a second one to her when she needed a break from her parents. Just two days after graduation, she had to say goodbye to her best friend, her constant since she was thirteen. It had been all blubbering and promises, tears streaming down both of their faces. All of them are gone, and Clarke is simply alone. 

She isn’t sure what to do to fill time besides sketching but for whatever reason, inspiration isn’t coming easy for her lately. She’s just always tired and achy, not to mention the vomiting hasn’t stopped. After ten minutes of throwing up water this morning, she officially decided that she would ask her mom to make her a doctor’s appointment when she got home from work. If it weren’t for the vomiting, she could chalk up the exhaustion and achiness as a precursor to her period. She always feels like shit the week before it arrives.

_ Her period _ . Clarke sits up straight in her bed, cursing herself when a fresh wave of nausea washes over her at the quick movement. _ Is _ she due for her period? When’s the last time she had it? When’s the last time she bought tampons? She’s been so busy that she hasn’t given it much thought until now.

Did she get a period in May? She was so busy in May that she can’t remember. Then again, she’s always been irregular, so maybe she just skipped May with everything going on. That means she must have gotten it in April at some point. But she can’t remember with certainty about April either. She _ definitely _ had her period in mid-March. The memory is clear to her because of what a pain in the ass it was to deal with when her friends and her spent the day on the beach. 

But after that...she can’t remember. _ She can’t remember _ . She sets her mug down on the table next to her bed as she tries to think. _ Fuck _, she thinks, remember her bouts of nausea she brushed aside the last month. She felt sick the whole morning of graduation, thought she wouldn’t make it through her speech at one point.

_ Fuck fuck fuck _ , she thinks again. The nausea. The missing period. The exhaustion and aches. She’s so fucking stupid. So, _ so _ stupid. All of these horrible symptoms could mean one singular, horrible, thing. She could be pregnant. What if she’s _ pregnant _. She wants to throw up again for entirely different reasons. Then, because she’s so damn stupid, it takes her an extra moment to realize that if she is pregnant, Bellamy Blake is the father.

\--∞--

Clarke blasts her music as she drives to the drug store across town. It’s the only way she can think to drown out her thoughts, and if she can’t drown out her thoughts, she just might drive off into the ocean. 

The minute the word _ pregnancy _ got stuck in her head, playing on a loop like a bad song, she had basically leaped out of her bed. Dressing in leggings and throwing her hair back as quickly as she could, she drove off as fast as she could, thankful that both her parents were still at work. She doesn’t have the eloquence to deal with lying to them and pretending that she’s okay. She’s not okay, not at all.

Clarke tries to remind herself that she isn’t necessarily pregnant. It could just be a weird bug, a reaction to stress like she had originally thought. If stress is making her nauseous, it could definitely affect her period. But despite her best crack at this logic, she feels like she just _ knows _, like it’s absolutely obvious now that she’s considered it and she can’t believe she didn’t realize it sooner.

Still, Bellamy used a condom. How did this happen? That night was a blur, but of that much she’s sure. How could she forget his madman search for one, the sound of utter relief when he found the box. She also remembers how hot his desperation was. _ Not the time, Clarke _, she chides herself. 

Clarke pulls into the parking lot of a drug store she’s never been to on the opposite side of the city. She couldn’t risk buying a pregnancy test where someone might recognize her. It’s still a risk, but a lesser one at least. 

She finds the aisle with the pregnancy tests fairly quickly and pauses in front of them, her eyes raking over all of the options. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones that she’s now fairly certain are pulsing through her, or maybe it’s the stress of the situation itself, but she feels on the verge of tears just looking at the overwhelming amount of options. She wishes desperately that Octavia was with her. She would know what to do, and even if she didn’t, she would pretend to for Clarke’s sake. Octavia was never afraid to take charge of a situation, even if she knew nothing about that. Clarke’s not like that. She’s a planner, she likes routines and familiarity, and she certainly can’t handle this. 

Clarke stands there hopelessly with tears in her eyes despite her best efforts. Minutes tick by before she senses another person standing in her periphery. She can feel them staring at her, which irritates her more than it usually would. Doesn’t she have enough going on without strangers judging her. She feels ready to snap and is about to tell them to fuck off. When she finally looks up, she physically startles.

It’s none other than Raven Reyes standing beside her, eyeing her curiously from the deodorant section. 

_ What are the fucking odds? _ she thinks. _ Anything else you’d like to throw my way today? _ she wants to scream at the universe. 

The girl doesn’t have the decency to look away from her once Clarke catches her eye. She just stares back at her curiously, like Clarke is a science experiment that she’s trying to hypothesize. Then it dawns on Clarke, why she must be so curious. 

“It’s not Finn’s,” Clarke snaps at her. Clarke doesn’t have the time to deal with this drama on top of everything else. Finn cheating on them is child’s play compared to what she’s currently dealing with. 

Clarke hoped her harsh tone would be enough to scare Raven off, but realizes it probably wasn’t very effective given the way her voice cracked on each word. To her surprise, Raven just shakes her head at that, looking taken aback by the statement. 

“I didn’t think it was Finn’s,” she replies cooly, emanating all the calmness Clarke wishes she possessed. There’s not the relief in Raven’s voice she might expect if Raven really had suspected Finn of being the father, so Clarke takes her at her word, turning back towards the pregnancy tests.

“Are you okay?” Raven asks, a little tentatively. Clarke just ignores her, eyes raking over all her options again and wondering which brand might be best to give her the bad news she knows she’s going to receive. Clarke feels, more than sees, Raven walk up beside her. 

“Here, use this one,” Raven directs her, handing her a test from the third shelf. “It’s the best value and most reliable,” she adds when Clarke doesn’t say anything.

Clarke takes the box from her, feeling numb as if her body is running on autopilot. She stares down at it, not having the energy to wonder about Raven’s familiarity with pregnancy tests like she usually might. 

The word pregnancy seems to float off the box as Clarke stares at it, as if the very word is taunting her. She waits for Raven to leave, but she remains at her side. 

“Are you here alone?” Raven asks. 

Clarke nods, but her usual defense mechanisms finally kick in. “I’m fine. Thanks for...this,” she tells her, lifting the box. 

Still neither girl moves. Clarke glances at the register but feels unable to move towards it. Raven doesn’t move either. Suddenly she transforms into the Raven Reyes that Clarke has always heard about - confident and bold, not a shred of uncertainty. 

“Here,” Raven says, taking the box back from Clarke and putting it into her own basket with a few other toiletries she’s collected. Raven pauses, as if thinking, and then pulls another test off the shelf. “Just to be sure,” she explains to Clarke, who must look as confused as she feels. 

Raven walks away with Clarke’s pregnancy tests in her basket and Clarke watches in awe as she goes up to the register to pay, grabbing a gatorade at the last minute from the cooler. Clarke still hasn’t moved, unsure of what’s happening. Once Raven pays, she nods to Clarke to follow her out. Clarke’s not sure why, maybe it’s because her brain simply isn’t working, but she follows her orders without question.

Once Clarke catches up with her, Raven pulls the deodorant and a few other items out of the bag and hands the bag back to Clarke. Noticing the heaviness of the bag, Clarke looks inside and sees Raven left her the gatorade with the pregnancy tests. The fact that the small gesture leaves Clarke so emotional that she finds herself blinking back tears doesn’t bode well for her hopes for negative pregnancy tests. 

“Uh, thanks. I’ll venmo you,” Clarke tells her lamely, unsure of what else to say. Raven nods and looks at her curiously again, but Clarke just glances back at her car as she tries to breathe steadily. 

“Why don’t you come back to my place?” Raven suggests. 

Clarke’s eyes snap back to hers, eyebrows raised at the invitation. She feels like she’s living in a strange dream and wishes someone would pinch her awake. 

“It’s a piece of shit, but all three of my roomates are out of town, so if you need some privacy from your parents or conversely don’t want to be alone while you…” Raven gestures to Clarke’s bag.

Clarke looks down at the bag again, unsure of how to respond to that. 

“Alright well, let me know if you change your mind,” Raven tells her, apparently taking her silence as a no. Raven turns to walk away but doesn’t make it five feet before Clarke calls out to her.

“Wait!” Clarke hates the desperation in her voice but she feels like that’s all she’s made of at the moment. Desperation. Raven turns around to face her again but says nothing, only looks at her expectantly.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Clarke prompts.

Raven breaks out into a grin, which may be strange given the circumstances but somehow makes Clarke feel better. Like if Raven is smiling, then her current circumstances aren’t quite so catastrophic. 

“I definitely don’t mind. C’mon.” Raven nods in the direction opposite Clarke’s car. “I’m just a few blocks away, you can leave your car here.”

\--∞--

Clarke sits on the ground of Raven Reyes’s bathroom with an empty gatorade bottle beside her, still feeling like she’s in some kind of dream. Raven sits cross-legged on the toilet, phone to her face while they wait for both tests to process, as if it’s just another Thursday evening for her.

Clarke kind of hates how accurate Raven’s reputation as a cool and confident badass is. It’s not just the rumor mill that this girl is beautiful, brilliant and confident. She also invites ‘the other woman’ to take pregnancy tests in her bathroom while she plays candy crush like it’s no big deal at all. Clarke thinks she’s the eighth wonder of the world. 

“Did you just get back from school?” Clarke asks, desperate to keep her mind off the impending news. 

“Oh,” Raven stutters, putting her phone down. For the first time since she’s met her, she actually seems unsure, a little awkward even. “I actually just transferred back to Arkadia State in January.”

“Oh. Why’d you transfer?” Clarke knows it’s none of her business, but she thinks they’ve probably passed the normal boundaries phase of whatever this is by now. 

“A lot of reasons,” Raven shrugs. “It was more expensive than I could manage, even with aid and a few scholarships. Also, my mom’s an alcoholic and I felt bad leaving her, even though everyone tells me she isn’t my responsibility.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, unsure of what else to say. Raven continues anyways.

“I also wanted to be closer to Finn, but obviously that was before…” She makes a gesture, as if the reason is in the air around them. “Everything,” she finishes with a casual roll of her eyes. Her voice isn’t accusatory though. In fact, she says it like any other fact she has no personal investment in. The sky is blue. Birds fly. Water is wet. Finn cheated on me with you, but he’s a nonissue now. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Clarke apologizes, feeling like it needs to be said out loud, even if the girl doesn’t seem to blame her. “I didn’t know about you, he told me you guys broke up.”

Raven shrugs. “I know, it’s okay. Finn is clearly an asshole and has a lot of things he needs to work out on his own, but he at least admitted as much about you.”

It’s silent for another few minutes, although Clarke finds it’s not as awkward as she expected. Maybe it’s because she has bigger things to worry about than Raven. 

“Sorry I screamed at you,” Raven says quietly, breaking the silence. Clarke thinks Raven probably doesn’t do much apologizing. It doesn’t seem natural to her and it makes Clarke appreciate the gesture all the more. 

“Well, in your defense, it didn’t look good,” Clarke assures her, letting out a little humorless laugh. 

To her surprise, Raven laughs with her. “Yeah, it definitely did not.”

Clarke laughs again and this time it feels more like a real laugh, if only because of the absolute absurdity of the situation. She feels a little bit of the anxiety evaporate up until she remembers why she’s sitting on Raven’s floor.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Raven prompts, as if reading her mind. Still, Clarke doesn’t move. 

“Do you want me to tell you or do you want to look yourself?”

The fact that Clarke doesn’t even know what to do with that decision doesn’t bode well for the very hard decisions she’s almost certain she’ll have to make in the near future. But she knows Raven won’t make this one for her. Clarke stretches to reach the tests sitting on the sink counter and sits back on the ground again, a test in each hand. She holds her breath, steeling herself for the moment she has to look at them.

Taking one last deep breath, she opens her hand and looks at the first one. _ Pregnant _ . She sets it down beside her without a word and looks at the second one, already sure she knows what it will say. _ Pregnant _. She keeps that one in her hand and keeps her gaze on her lap.

Raven must read the results on her face, clear as day. “Pregnant?” she asks. 

“Pregnant,” Clarke confirms, choking over the word. Suddenly the cold, numbness she’s enveloped herself in all day bursts like a flimsy bubble. She begins to sob, messy and violent. Raven is by her side in an instant, pulling her into her. Most surprising to Clarke is that she lets her. Clarke lets herself cry on the girl’s shoulder, probably ruining her shirt, until the sky darkens outside.

\--∞--

Clarke is thankful the next day is a Friday and both her parents are headed off to work early. She counts her blessings, no matter how small or few they are at the moment. She doesn’t need to answer to them when they question why she’s spent the day in her room, why she can’t seem to get out of bed. 

Raven was nice enough to order them a pizza after Clarke eventually stopped crying. She told her about a clinic she knows of that Clarke can go to if she decides she doesn’t want to keep it. There’s no judgement one way or another from Raven. Everything she says, she says it like it’s another simple fact. Clarke let her know she had to think things over and left with both pregnancy tests in her purse. Maybe it’s gross, but she needs them on hand to remind herself that they’re real, not just a nightmare she conjured up in her sleep the night before. 

Clarke rolls onto her side and reads the small clock on her table. Nearly 2pm. She should get up. Shower, go for a walk. Eat something, _ do _something, anything. But if she goes on with her day, with her life, she has to acknowledge the decisions she has to make. She isn’t ready to do that, not at all. 

Clarke places her hand on the soft flesh of her lower abdomen, knowing it’s far too early to notice any physical changes. Still, the knowledge of _ something _ there, inside her, makes her drawn to it. That, of course, makes her think about Bellamy, another thing she isn’t ready to face. 

She tries to separate the pregnancy from him, tries not to let her feelings for him, good and bad, affect her decisions. It feels impossible though, because she just keeps thinking about how she’s pregnant with _ Bellamy _ ’s baby. Something _ they _ created. _ Together _. Something, someone, half her, half him. Despite the horror over the whole situation, these thoughts fill her with...well, with something less horrifying. Something she can’t place and is afraid to examine too closely. She tucks those feelings away for later, only able to face one crisis at a time.

Clarke has always been logical and she just needs to approach this like she does everything else in life. She needs to organize her thoughts and make a plan. At the end of the day, she knows there are really only three options. Abortion. Adoption. Keeping it. The last option feels so big and terrifying she shoves it aside, locks it away for the time being. Right now, she just needs to work through the other two. She needs to decide if she wants to _ have _ the baby at all. 

Clarke already knows what the rational decision is - going to the clinic and getting it taken care of. Bellamy never has to know. In fact, _ no one _ ever has to know. She’ll be on her way to Princeton in two months, as planned, and it’ll be like this whole thing never happened. It’s what she should do. In fact, it dawns on her that it’s the only option if she wants to go to Princeton in two months as planned. 

Hell, she’s pro-choice. She always assumed if she found herself in this situation, it’s what she would do. So why doesn’t it feel so black and white anymore? Because it’s Bellamy’s? Or because regardless of Bellamy, it was never going to be as clean and emotionless as she pretended it would be. She respects that it might be for other women, but it’s quickly turning out not to be the case for her. 

What she really wants to do is sneak down to her parents’ liquor cabinet and take a shot, take the edge off. Ironically, it’s the one thing she can’t do. Instead, she forces herself to think about the adoption path. She could have this baby and give it to a nice family. There are so many people who want babies that can’t have one. Hell, it would be like a good deed. She could do a closed adoption and put it all behind her. Princeton will almost certainly let her defer for a year. 

Could she do that? Have this - have Bellamy’s baby and give it away? Amidst all these considerations, there’s a little nagging voice in the back of her mind reminding her she should tell Bellamy. The pest of a voice reminds her that although it’s ultimately her decision, maybe he deserves to know. But she’s too angry at him, too embarrassed over the whole situation to even consider it right now. He doesn’t want anything to do with her, so why would he want anything to do with all this? 

She knows he’s a good person and that’s exactly why he would involve himself. Out of a sense of moral obligation, not because he _ wants _ any of this. Octavia hasn’t stopped talking about how Bellamy can finally go to school, have a life of his own. So now her best friend is suddenly the reason her brother can’t have those things? Clarke groans, throwing aside her blankets and climbing out of bed and into the shower, not any closer to reaching a decision. 

\--∞--

Clarke keeps the news to herself for two more days, feeling more and more ready to break with every hour that passes. Again, she desperately wishes she had Octavia with her. Maybe she can’t fix this, but she would make her feel better. Clarke is certain of that. Of course, in this fantasy where Octavia knows and supports her, Clarke is ignoring the fact that Octavia wouldn’t be okay with keeping any of this from Bellamy. Clarke pretends in this version of reality, it isn’t a problem. 

Shockingly, it’s Raven who checks on her the next day. Clarke keeps her response short, thanking her for checking in and letting her know that she hasn’t decided anything yet. Instead, Clarke tries to go about life like nothing is wrong. She eats dinner with her parents, watches soccer afterwards with her dad, and sketches in the mornings. All the while, she grows increasingly desperate from the brick of anxiety on her chest that feels heavier with every passing hour. 

It’s all eating her up inside, stripping her raw and making her feel like a child who would do anything for the comfort of her parents. She needs help and she can’t deny that any longer. This is what finally pushes her to say something. To ask for help because God does she need it.

It’s nearly 1am when Clarke treads down the hallway towards her parents’ room on trepid feet. She spent hours tossing and turning, not any closer to knowing what to do or getting a good night’s sleep. The panic has reached her throat and tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She feels like a balloon ready to burst at any moment and she can’t take it anymore.

She takes a deep breath as she pushes the door to her parents’ bedroom open. 

“Mom?” Her voice is quiet, cracking on the word. It reminds her of when she would wake her parents as a child after throwing up or having a nightmare. She’d laugh at how pathetic that is if she wasn’t so damn afraid.

Abby stirs, sitting up slowly. “Clarke?” She’s always been the lighter sleeper of her parents. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Abby shakes Jake awake, who sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Clarke? What’s the matter?”

At that simple question, Clarke bursts into tears without warning. She doesn’t know if it’s the hormones or just fear, plain and simple. They stream down her face beyond her control and her parents spring into action, alarmed at her outburst. Clarke has never been a big crier. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” her mom coos, pulling Clarke to the side of their bed and into her arms. It’s then that Clarke realizes how she’s wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if she’s trying to physically hold herself together. Her dad moves to sit on her other side, rubbing her back. The lights remain off and Clarke is glad for that. She doesn’t want her parents to see whatever her face must look like. 

Eventually Clarke settles down, inhaling deep, shaky breaths. Still, she says nothing. 

“Clarke, what’s wrong? What happened? Is this about college?” her mom tries. 

Clarke shakes her head, although she supposes it is about college, in a sense. It’s about everything now. There’s not a corner of their lives that won’t be touched by this.

“I...I’m-,” she hiccups from crying so hard and forces herself to take another deep breath. “I’m pregnant,” she croaks. 

Clarke expects to break down again but somehow she holds it together long enough to listen to the silence that stretches across the room. She spares a glance at her father first, who is just staring straight ahead with an unreadable expression on his face. She’s not sure what to do with that, so she turns to her mom.

“What?” Abby asks dumbly. 

“Mom, don’t make me say it again,” Clarke murmurs, voice cracking. She waits for her mother to completely flip out, to start screaming at her and telling her what a disappointment she is. She waits to be lectured about how irresponsible she is. 

When her mom doesn’t say anything either, it breaks her all over again. The silence is somehow worse. 

“Mom, I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do,” she cries, the sob she expected earlier finally escaping. 

Abby surprises her by pulling her into her side tightly. Clarke tries to breathe evenly as she takes in the faint mix of rose sandalwood perfume and jasmine scented shampoo that Clarke has had memorized for as long as she can remember. Clarke realizes her dad has left the room. 

“Clarke,” Abby says gently, more gently than Clarke could have ever imagined in this scenario. She pulls away from Clarke and holds Clarke’s face in her hands, brushing away stray tears with her thumbs. “Honey, can you tell me what happened?”

“What happened?” Clarke repeats, confused at the question. She thinks it’s pretty obvious how this happened. 

Abby shakes her head. “I mean how...I mean…” She shakes her head again, as if she can physically rid herself of the news. “You know what, we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Clarke doesn’t get the chance to respond. Her dad walks back into the room and hands her a glass of water without a word. Clarke takes a few sips, but water was never what she needed. It was this - the safety and security of her parents by her side. She already feels a hundred times lighter now that she’s shared the burden with them, even if her dad hasn’t said anything about it yet. 

Clarke sleeps between her parents that night like she did as a child. For the first time since she read the pregnancy tests, she sleeps soundly and through the night. She’s not any less scared, but she’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, comments always appreciated! Next week we're back to the present with the Delinquents' annual christmas party.


	9. Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, I'm so glad you guys are still enjoying the story. Happy reading!

Bellamy sets out bowls of popcorn mixed with red and green M&M’s on the counter of his bar next to the various bottles of wine and liquor that crowd the corner of it. Crouching down to plug in the lights for the christmas tree set up against the back wall of the bar, he hums along to the christmas music playing over the speakers. Lights are wrapped around the garland that hangs along the bar counter and doors.

It’s December 23rd, which means it’s the night of the Delinquents' holiday party, no matter the day of the week. This year it falls on a Thursday, so it could definitely be worse. They’ve had this party since the year after Lucie was born and Bellamy has been hosting since the Dead Zone opened three years back.

When Clarke’s friends were still away at college, it was one of the only times of the year that they could all get together. Jasper had brought Maya with him the second year, after meeting her in an art history course he took his junior fall semester, and Emori joined them the first time that Bellamy hosted at the Dead Zone a year later. This year would be a record for newcomers joining them - Cillian and Sasha were coming, and Octavia too. It feels strange that this is Octavia’s first year at the party given that she’s known most of them for so long, but her breaks in deployment rarely overlapped with the holidays.

The kitchen door swings open to reveal Jasper and Monty struggling to carry a large cooler of punch. 

“Over here,” Bellamy directs, going over to the bar to help them set it down. It’s an especially deadly mix given how much of their homemade moonshine they add. 

“Do we really need that much?” Bellamy asks as the three of them set it down on the counter next to the other snacks.

“Dad,” Jasper says, slapping a hand onto his shoulder. “Our sweet old man, you just let us handle the alcohol.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy laughs, shaking him off. 

While they head back into the kitchen to clean up, Bellamy leans against the bar as he realizes what song is playing over the speakers. 

_ The snow's coming down _

_ (Christmas) _

_ I'm watching it fall _

_ (Christmas) _

_ Lots of people around _

_ (Christmas) _

_ Baby please come home _

He feels like he’s transported in time as the lyrics wash over him. His burnt tongue, the strange taste of coffee over it and the smudged makeup around Clarke’s bright blue eyes. No matter how many times he’s heard this song over the years since that night, he hasn’t been able to dissociate it from the time he heard it over the speakers at the diner with Clarke on New Year’s. It was so long ago, but the song now fills him with a strange feeling of joy tinged with desperation and longing. It’s how he felt all those years ago and he supposes nothing has really changed all that much.

It’s been about a week and a half since his disastrous shopping trip with Clarke, and Bellamy has managed to stay clear of her aside from their typical interactions regarding Lucie. Still, he knows that won’t last. He needed the space though. Just a little time, that’s all.

“Merry Christmas!” Emori yells as she bursts through the front door, followed closely by Murphy.

“Our contribution,” Murphy tells Bellamy, handing him a bottle of green liquid as he walks past him and heads straight for the snacks.

“You brought absinthe,” Bellamy says, reading the label. “As your potluck contribution.” 

Murphy just shrugs. “We got yelled at for bringing the fun brownies last year.”

“No, you got yelled at for not _ telling _ anyone they were fun brownies.”

Before Murphy or Emori can argue, the door swings open again to reveal Raven struggling to balance multiple trays of food as she attempts to hold open the door with her back.

“I got it,” Emori says, rushing over to catch the door. Murphy, standing closest to the door, just pops a handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal,” Raven snaps at him, managing to successfully kick his shin as she walks by, even while carrying the food. 

“Hey, hey, settle down, Grinch. It’s a little early for violence,” Murphy scolds her, throwing a piece of popcorn at her back. 

“You’re an unhelpful asshole,” Emori tells him, wrapping her arms around him from behind and giving his shoulder a kiss despite her harsh words.

“Here, I’ve got it,” Bellamy offers, catching up with Raven in time to open the kitchen door for her.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Raven says once she spots Monty and Jasper drying the last of the dishes. 

“Did I hear something about absinthe?” Jasper asks, looking as excited as Lucie does on Christmas morning.

“Go ask Murphy,” Bellamy laughs as the two of them run out. 

“Thank you,” Raven sighs, putting down the platters once the guys have left. 

“Consider it your one and only christmas gift,” he teases.

“Do I need to kick you too?”

“Not yet, but we’ll see how White Elephant goes tonight.”

Raven lets out a bark of a laugh. Their White Elephant gift exchange is known to be ruthless. None of the delinquents are afraid to go after what they want, friendships and holiday spirit be damned.

“So Wells is bringing Sasha tonight, huh?” Raven says as they unwrap the food, preparing to put some of the dishes into the oven. “You haven’t met her, right?”

“Nope,” Bellamy shrugs. “But it’s Wells. The most risky thing he’s ever done is stay friends with Clarke, Octava, and the rest of them. I highly doubt we have anything to worry about regarding any woman he dates.”

Raven shrugs. “Yeah, true. Let’s just hope she’s fun. Nice too…” she trails off, a strange look on her face. Before Bellamy can question her, she shakes her head slightly, voice harsh and teasing when she speaks again. “Who knows what kind of girl Wells chooses when left to his own devices.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” Raven agrees. Bellamy gives her a weary glance out of the corner of his eye when she crumples up the tin foil covering the dishes a little more violently than necessary. Still, he doesn’t say anything. 

“It’s just that, Wells is a really great guy,” Raven continues after a beat of silence. “He deserves someone just as great. I just hope she’s good enough. I worry about him sometimes, finishing his last year of law school while working at his dad’s firm. All work and no play.”

“Aw, you guys got married and didn’t tell me,” Bellamy teases, surprised at Raven’s interest in Wells’s new girlfriend. It’s a little out of character for her. 

“Ha ha,” she deadpans. “I’m just saying as his _ friend _, I worry about him. What’s wrong with that?”

Then Bellamy remembers something Wells told him at Lucie’s birthday and the wheels begin to turn. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Exactly.”

“Just that, Wells mentioned at Lucie’s party that you guys have been getting lunch together pretty frequently the past few months.”

“Yeah so?” she counters, but she’s not as good an actress as she thinks she is. Bellamy catches the way she tenses at his comment. “His firm is only a block away from my office, we get lunch sometimes. Didn’t know that was a crime.”

“It’s certainly not.” Bellamy bites down his smirk. Clarke and him have always said how they thought the two of them might be good together. Raven’s bright sass, Wells’s calming presence, both of them brilliant in different ways. Still, nothing happened over the years, even when Wells moved back to Arkadia for Law School after college. They figured if it was going to happen, then it would have by now.

Maybe it’s because that song has that particular New Year’s on his mind, but it reminds him of the words on that damn check. 

_ Remember, if it’s right, it’ll happen. Nothing good gets away. _

Maybe Wells and Raven have a chance. Maybe they just needed to take their time. 

“So, how long have you had a thing for Wells?” he asks after a moment, unable to help himself.

She drops the dish she was about to put into the oven back onto the counter. Luckily it just clatters loudly instead of breaking.

“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t like _ Wells _, that’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Reyes. Just sounds like maybe you want to be the play in that work life balance scenario you’re so worried about.”

Bellamy grunts when she elbows him.

“Actually, I’m seeing someone,” she tells him, chin up as if it’s a point of pride. “His name is Miles, and he’s brilliant and incredibly hot.”

“_Seeing _ someone, or sleeping with them?”

“Same difference,” Raven shrugs.

“Maybe for people like you and me, but it’s technically not,” Bellamy laughs.

“Well it _ could _be something. He just kind of annoys me sometimes, so I don’t know if I want it to be anything yet.”

“So, just to clarify, you’re fucking this Miles, not seeing him? _ And _ he’s _ already _annoying you? Sounds like true love to me.”

“You really want to have a conversation about love, Blake?” she snaps, mischief in her eyes.

“Down, girl,” Bellamy laughs, putting his hands up in surrender. The last thing he can deal with right now is Raven calling him out on his feelings for Clarke. No matter how many times he denies it, Raven sees right through him. 

“That’s what I thought,” she quips, finally putting the dish into the oven.

\--∞--

“You ready?” Clarke asks Cillian, giving his hand a squeeze as they walk up to the Dead Zone. Her ring digs into her finger when she does, pinching her. 

“Ready as I ever am for your insane group of friends,” he quips lightly. Clarke laughs but she knows that he does get a little nervous about these events. But that’s a good thing, she reminds herself. It shows that he cares. 

Cillian lets go of her hand to open the door for her and she finds that the party is in full swing when she walks in. There’s a chorus of her friends greeting them, yelling “Clarke!” in varying degrees of tipsy tones as she takes off her peacoat. She’s wearing a simple forrest green turtleneck tucked into a pair of high waisted back jeans that hug her curves and a pair of black suede ankle boots with a modest heel. 

“Merry Christmas!” she yells back, laughing. She runs a hand through her shoulder-length waves, trying to tame it from the wind’s wraith she faced outside and heads over to the tree to set down their White Elephant gifts before doing a sweep of the bar. 

A quick survey of the room reveals that only Wells and his girlfriend are missing. Octavia is seated at the bar laughing at something that Jasper is animatedly telling her while Monty stands beside him, shaking his head and rolling his eyes lightly. Emori and Raven are looking at baby pictures of Jordan that Harper has on her phone while Maya and Jackson are talking a few feet away from her, probably about the hospital where Maya works as a nurse with Jackson. Some of the stories she’s heard from them sound like they’re straight out of Grey’s Anatomy. 

Finally, Clarke’s eyes land on Bellamy, standing behind the bar where he usually ends up, even when he’s not working. He’s laughing with Miller and Murphy about something and Clarke smiles at them.

Bellamy must feel her eyes on him because he glances up at her, catching her staring. When he gives her a small smile and wave, she sighs in relief. She wasn’t sure what to expect after their shopping trip. Everything felt tense and strange, and she knows she’s partly to blame. But she can’t, she won’t, think about all that right now.

“Hey babe,” Cillian says, putting a hand on her lower back and pulling her attention away from Bellamy. “Where should I put these?” he asks, referring to the platters of food in his hands.

“Oh, we can put those in the kitchen. The dip needs to go in the oven.”

After Clarke and Cillian emerge from the kitchen, she’s pouring herself and Cillian glasses of wine when there’s a commotion alerting her to Wells’s arrival. He holds the door open for a pretty blonde who walks in holding a plate of Christmas cookies. She has long blonde hair with waves that are too perfect to be natural and beautiful green eyes that remind Clarke of bambi. She smiles softly and waves at everyone with a perfectly manicured hand before taking off her jacket to reveal a red blouse with frills on the sleeves and conversative black slacks. 

“Everyone, this is Sasha,” Wells introduces once he takes her jacket. “Sasha, this is the worst group of people you’ll ever meet.”

“It’s so nice to meet you all, I’ve heard so much about you guys,” Sasha tells them, seemingly genuine but with a primness that makes Clarke stifle a giggle given who she’s talking to. 

Everyone welcomes her while Murphy makes his way over to Wells, trapping him in a headlock before Wells can stop it. “Damn Wells, who’d you pay to get someone so hot to go out with you?”

Everyone laughs but Sasha looks slightly uncomfortable, to say the least. “I’m sorry, ignore him. He’s not house broken yet,” Emori tells her, dragging Murphy off of Wells. She slaps him lightly on the back of the head as she pushes him back towards the bar. 

About twenty minutes later, once everyone has a drink in their hand and the food is all laid out, Raven climbs on top of one of the tables pushed against a wall.

“Okay, everyone listen up!” she yells. Everyone quiets, giving her their attention. “Welcome to the sixth annual Delinquent Holiday Palooza!”

Everyone cheers dramatically as if she just announced that they won the lotto. Clarke couldn’t bite down the grin she’s wearing if she tried. She loves this day more than anything, where all of them can get together and let loose, have fun. Maybe her friends have these opportunities all the time, but it means even more to her because she didn’t get her college days of careless fun. She has no regrets when it comes to that, wouldn’t give up being a mother to Lucie for anything. Still, she loves that she gets to feel as careless as a mother ever can be for one night of the year.

“Since we have some newcomers this year, allow me to lay out the ground rules. Number one, nobody is allowed to drive. If you drive then you feel obligated to drink less, and we do not drink _ less _ at Delinquent Palooza.”

Everyone cheers again, Jasper and Miller the loudest. Jackson shakes his head at his boyfriend, but his eyes are soft and full of love. Clarke hasn’t seen that love lessen even an ounce since Lucie was born. 

“I, uh...I drove,” Cillian admits when they quiet down. “Like I told Clarke, I really don’t mind. I’m going to take it easy and I can drive Clarke home-”

Everyone starts booing in jest until Raven quiets them down again. 

“Keys,” Raven demands.

“I told you,” Clarke whispers, unable to stop herself from laughing. He had insisted on driving, never one to let loose for a night. It was a quality she’s always liked. Cillian is stable and predictable, and stable and predictable don’t break hearts.

Cillian finally relents, tossing the keys up to Raven as everyone cheers wildly. Clarke gives him a smug smile. She spent the last hour trying to tell him how it wouldn’t fly, but he had insisted it would be fine. 

“You can leave these here and retrieve your car tomorrow,” Raven tells him, like she’s chiding a six year old.

“Second order of business. As always, the White Elephant exchange will be played according to the _ rules _. There must be honor among thieves tonight, even you, Murphy.” Murphy flips her off and takes a shot of something brown. 

“However,” she continues. “As a reminder, within the scope of the rules, there is no friendship in White Elephant.”

“Lastly, we must initiate the newcomers with a shot of Jasper and Monty’s moonshine. Cillian, Sasha, and Octavia, please step up,” Raven commands as Monty brings out three shot glasses on a tray. 

Wells laughs and rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to actually do that,” he tells Sasha. “She’s just kidding.”

“No, I’m not,” Raven snaps, voice serious. 

“Raven-” Wells begins to warn. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Sasha says, walking up to take the shot. 

Raven gives Wells a cocky grin that easily says, _ I win _. 

“I feel like I’m fifteen again,” Octavia complains, but Clarke catches her smile. 

“Octavia’s not really a newcomer,” Clarke argues, suddenly feeling bad that her oldest friend is being grouped in with the newest significant others. It feels wrong. She’s one of them, always has been. 

But Octavia has never been one to make excuses. “Oh, it’s fine,” she insists, waving her off. “Who wouldn’t want a shot of this poison?” She knocks the shot back effortlessly, barely making a face, without waiting for Cillian or Sasha. The whole room cheers for her and Octavia takes a dramatic bow, drawing a giggle from Clarke. God, how she’s missed her. Nobody pays much attention to Cillian and Sasha who quietly take their shots behind her, but Clarke notices that neither manages to mask their disgust like Octavia has. 

“Last but not least, everyone please raise their glasses,” Raven instructs. Everyone raises whatever they happen to be sipping on into the air. “Let the sixth annual Delinquents Holiday Palooza begin,” she toasts. 

\--∞--

Everyone breaks into the food after the toast, and the liquor and wine bottles dissipate as the hour goes on. Bellamy is collecting empty bottles to bring to the recyclables when Octavia catches him behind the bar. 

“Can’t resist playing host can you?” she teases. 

“Well, it _ is _ my bar,” he laughs. “I think it’s allowed. Having fun?”

“Yeah. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve missed these idiots,” she laughs. “Although it’s a little strange, since I know half the people here as well as family and the others are strangers. Like I have one foot in and one foot out.”

“It’ll just take time, O. Everyone already loves you because of how much Clarke, me, and the others talk about you.”

“I know, everyone has been great,” Octavia smiles. “It’s just not...normal yet. Which is okay.”

“You’ve never been much of a beer person” he comments, nodding at her blue moon.

“Yeah I’m taking it easy these days,” Octavia laughs. “Therapist’s orders.”

Bellamy laughs too, figuring they might as well joke about these things, however dark they are under the surface. Sometimes laughing is the best way to deal with it, or the only way to deal with it. 

“Oh, and just so you know, Lucie was already making Mom watch _ A Year Without a Santa Clause _ for a second time when I left. I’m betting she makes it to four times before Mom cuts her off.”

“Five times,” Bellamy laughs, picturing Lucie snuggled up with wide eyes on the screen. “Mom’s a complete pushover with her.”

“Hey, you guys ready? We’re going to start,” Harper says before Octavia can respond.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Bellamy says, making a show of cracking his knuckles.

Harper rolls her eyes lightly before heading over to the tree.

“C’mon, nerd,” Octavia tells him, pushing him towards the tree. “Fatherhood has made you even worse.” Still, he can hear the fondness in her voice. 

\--∞--

“Are you kidding me?” Bellamy asks, as he pulls the bottle of absinthe out of the bag. He figured it was a bottle of something, but he was hoping for whiskey. “You brought absinthe as your gift too?”

Murphy smirks, looking pretty pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it off your hands soon,” Jasper promises, already looking delighted. 

Bellamy ended up with one of the highest numbers, meaning he was in a pretty bad position to get what he wanted. Not that he minded. He got more joy from watching his friends fighting over these stupid gifts than he did from any of the gifts themselves. 

Of course, it’s Clarke who his eyes drift over to during most of the game, hopefully subtly enough that nobody notices. She’s smug about picking number one, because of course she is, and pretends to assess everyone’s presents as if deciding whether to steal it from then when it comes down to her turn. The more she drinks, the more she giggles at her own game. 

Even as Clarke is settled against Cillian, Bellamy can’t help but be happy tonight. It’s hard to dwell on the negative when most of the people he loves are all gathered in a circle, roasting each other and laughing loudly as Christmas music rings throughout the bar that he built from the ground up. Maybe it’s the moonshine, but he feels...at peace.

Once they finish opening the gifts, Harper makes everyone write a game that they want to play on a strip of paper and place it in a large serving bowl. Jackson, having drawn the highest number during White Elephant, is chosen to select the game from the bowl.

Everyone watches as he unfolds the paper and he gives an unimpressed, pointed look to the group as a whole. “Never have I ever? Really guys? Are we 16?”

“Hey,” Harper snaps. “It’ll be fun! I for one haven’t played since high school.”

“Well, we know who put that game in there,” Emori snorts.

“C’mon guys!” Harper says, giving them all her classic puppy eyes.

“Wells always wins anyways, what’s the point,” Miller complains. 

“Doesn’t matter, rules are rules,” Raven declares, snatching the paper back from Jackson. Harper flashes a victory smile at them. 

“You guys are really going to make me play never have I ever with my little sister?” Bellamy asks. 

“Rules are rules,” Wells tells him, mimicking Raven’s authoritarian tone perfectly. He grins widely at the mean glare she gives him, like he gets a kick out of pissing her off. 

“Just keep it G rated,” Bellamy mutters, sitting down and joining the circle. 

“That’s literally the opposite of the point of never have I ever,” Miller deadpans. 

“Here, got you a fresh cup,” Monty says from behind Bellamy, handing him a cup of the moonshine punch filled to the brim. The smell is enough to knock him out, but he takes it anyways. 

Once everyone has a fresh drink and is seated, Octavia volunteers to go first.

“Never have I ever,” she starts, turning pointedly to where Jasper and Monty are seated next to one another, “got caught with weed in my locker.”

“Low blow, Blake,” Monty mock scolds before he takes a sip. Then Murphy and Emori dramatically cheers each other before both taking a sip as well, causing a rumble of laughter to echo through the group.

Harper, sitting next to Octavia, hums as she tries to think of something. “Oh! Never have I ever had sex in a car,” she smirks, giving Monty a pointed look.

“Someone could see!” Monty defends, causing another round of laughter. He sounds exasperated, like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. 

“That’s the whole point, Monty,” Raven tells him through spurts of laughter as she tries to catch her breath. Bellamy takes a sip and glances curiously at Wells, who is looking at Raven with a strange expression when she says that. He’s enjoying keeping an eye on that situation a little too much. Maybe it’s because it’s such a great distraction from his own situation. 

Murphy’s up next and he makes a show of not being able to come up with something he hasn’t done. “Never have I ever…” he trails off, looking towards the ceiling. “Can I just take a drink?” he says finally. Everyone boos, but they let him anyways. 

“Never have I ever had to wear a suit to work,” Emori says, smiling proudly. She gets at least half the group, most of them having at one point needed to wear one for their job. Bellamy isn’t among them. 

\--∞--

Clarke goes from tipsy to drunk during never have I ever and vows to slow down a little. She always gets drunk at this party, but she’s never been out of control. Not since Lucie was born, it doesn’t feel right. 

Soon enough, it’s Sasha turn. She looks a little nervous as she tries to think of something and Clarke feels bad for her. This probably shouldn’t have been the first event Wells brought her to as an introduction.

“Never have I ever…” she trails off, still thinking. 

“Need us to come back to you?” Raven offers, voice condescending. 

Clarke shoots her a look, but Raven just shrugs.

“Sorry,” Sasha apologizes. “Um, never have I ever been to a concert.”

Everyone looks at her like a herd of deer in headlights. 

“Really?” Wells asks, turning towards her. He looks more curious than offended like the rest of them.

“_ How? _” Raven asks. Clarke doesn’t know what her problem is tonight. Raven’s always bold, but she’s now verging on rude.

“Strict parents,” Sasha shrugs.

“Yeah, but-” Raven starts. 

“Well, we’ll all have to go to one together,” Maya says, smiling at Sasha as she cuts Raven off. 

“Miller, you’re up,” Jasper tells him, trying to move the game along before anyone else can offend Sasha.

Miller cracks his knuckles as he thinks. “Never have I ever…” he starts, glancing around the room at all of them. Murphy, Emori, Octavia, and Jasper are long out. Raven bit the dust with the concert question and Monty is hanging on by one, as are Bellamy, Clarke, Miller, and Jackson. Sasha is the only one with all three fingers up, her last one having gotten all of them. The rest of them have two.

Miller’s gaze sweeps over the room once more, probably assessing what he can ask to knock out the most people. Clarke figures this round will knock her out, but she couldn’t have anticipated what she would be knocked out for.

“Never have I ever fallen for a friend,” he declares. 

Drunk as she is, Clarke takes a sip without even thinking about it. Her falling for Bellamy just feels like a part of who she is, even if nobody knows it. Everyone fake gags as Monty and Harper cheers before they drink and Clarke notices with wide eyes how Wells and Bellamy both take a sip. That’s when Clarke feels Cillian’s eyes on her, but she refuses to look at him. She’s too distracted thinking about how Bellamy took a sip too. 

_ What if it’s about her? _ a foolishly hopeful part of her wonders. That doesn’t mean he has feelings for her _ now _ , but what if he ever, in the past...no. It isn’t worth going there. Maybe it is about them, but Bellamy could have interpreted that as being attracted to someone, having a crush on someone, not being in love with someone. That would make sense, given that he liked her enough to have sex with her. Then again, they weren’t really _ friends _ when they had sex were they? Well, at least not when Lucie was conceived, but the-

“Were we friends first?” Murphy asks Emori across the circle from Clarke, breaking her out of dangerous thoughts. Dangerous memories. 

“John,” Emori says slowly, like she’s speaking to someone who doesn’t understand english. “We had sex on this bar three hours after I met you.”

“Jesus Christ, guys,” Bellamy mutters. A giggle escapes Clarke at his reaction, but she doesn’t think anyone else heard him. When she laughs, his eyes pop up to meet her own from across the circle, shining with amusement. 

“Yeah, but then we were just having sex. And we were kind of friends when we were hooking up, and _ then _ eventually we were dating…” Murphy trails off, as if he’s doing a math problem.

“You’re a moron,” Emori deadpans. “Just drink, then. You’re not even in the game anyways.”

“And throwback to baby Wells pining after Clarke,” Harper giggles, a bit wistfully. 

Clarke laughs with the rest of her friends. The memory is so far away that it doesn’t bother her anymore, although she is a little surprised that he drank. She didn’t think he was in love with her or anything. In retrospect, Clarke had thought it was more akin to a childish crush that teenagers get than truly falling for someone. Then again, if Bellamy interpreted _ falling for _ as a crush, then maybe Wells did too.

When Clarke looks up at Wells, she’s surprised to catch Raven looking put off by the whole thing and Wells looking distinctly uncomfortable. He looks like he might have done the same thing Clarke did - drink without thinking it through. But why would he feel awkward about his crush on her? That was years ago, they’re so beyond that.

Sasha just laughs, a fond smile on her face. It’s the kind you get when you learn something new and slightly embarrassing about your significant other. 

Then Murphy, the asshole he is, pipes up. He’s already slightly slurring his words

“Wait a minute, Clarke and Bellamy drank too,” he says conspiratorially, eyebrows raised and tilting his head a little. _ Fuck. _ She doesn’t think Murphy knows about her feelings for Bellamy, but any excuse to fuck with them. Emori smacks his back and whispers something to him in a harsh tone, like she’s scolding him. Clarke’s too distracted trying to come up with an excuse as to why she drank to catch what Emori actually said. Her heart starts pounding, hands growing clammy. She’s an _ idiot _. 

For the briefest moment, Bellamy’s eyes flicker to her once again. It’s so quick she thinks no one could have noticed. Only her, so in tune with his every movement. God, why is she giving into these thoughts tonight? It must be the alcohol. 

Clarke isn’t sure what Bellamy sees on her face, but he quickly handles their friends without missing a beat. “Believe it or not, I’ve actually had friends outside of this group of assholes,” he teases. 

As nervous as she was at the prospect of Bellamy taking a drink being about _ her _, her heart sinks when he confirms otherwise. Why does she let her imagination go to these insane places when it always stings anew in the end? She leans closer to Cillian, as if his physical presence might snap her out of her foolishness. 

“I’ve got one,” Bellamy offers before anyone can say anything further. 

“It’s not your turn,” Raven reminds him.

Bellamy shrugs. “Who cares, we’re playing a high school drinking game.”

Nobody argues with that, so he continues. The game moves forward, Miller’s question already long forgotten. 

\--∞--

Sasha ends up “winning” never have I ever, replacing Wells as the victor. 

“Win at never have I ever, lose at life,” Murphy reminds everyone loudly once it’s over, still slurring 

“Ignore him, he’s a degenerate,” Wells assures Sasha as they walk by. She giggles, seemingly unbothered. Clarke is glad to see she’s a good sport - she needs to be with their group. 

“What’s next?” Jasper asks the group.

“For you, water,” Maya quips, pulling him towards the bar.

Everyone disperses, going back towards the bar for water, more food, and more drinks. Clarke figures that they’ll all play another game when they get bored enough in 20 minutes or so.

“Having fun?” Clarke asks Cillian, wrapping an arm around him. 

“Of course,” he tells her, but his voice is unconvincing. She doesn’t think he sounds rude or angry, just...aloof. 

“I’ve got to go ask Jackson something,” he tells her, giving her a quick kiss before heading towards Jackson, who’s talking with Harper and Emori over the spinach artichoke dip.

“Okay,” she mutters, more to herself since he already walked away. She’s about to grab a cookie when she notices Octavia heading out the side door that leads to the alley. Clarke changes direction, following her.

The cold air hits her like a wall when she pushes the door open, but it feels refreshing after hours of drinking and laughing in the warm bar. It wakes her up a little.

When she steps outside, she sees Octavia lighting a cigarette to her left.

“That’s new,” Clarke says as she walks over to her. There’s no judgement in her voice though. It’s merely an observation. Another thing she doesn’t know or understand about the girl who was her best friend for so long.

Octavia jumps a little at her presence, clearly not having heard her come out of the bar, but lets out a laugh when she sees her.

“Bad habits die hard,” she sighs, taking a drag. “But I’m trying to drink less, so one thing at a time.”

Clarke nods, walking closer to her and leaning against the wall.

“You’ve been home for weeks and I feel like I’ve barely seen you,” Clarke starts.

Octavia pauses with the cigarette halfway to her lips and pulls her arm back down. She looks like she’s steeling herself for something. “I know, I’m sorry Clarke. I just-”

“No,” Clarke cuts her off. “That wasn’t a- _ I _ was going to apologize. I feel like I’ve been wrapped up in my own stuff. I haven’t been there for you like I should have been.”

Octavia shakes her head, rolling her eyes lightly. “Clarke, that isn’t necessary. I’ve hardly made the effort either.”

“I should have tried harder though,” Clarke insists. “I just didn’t...I don’t know what the right thing to say is. I don’t know what you need.”

Octavia gives her a soft smile. “You and me both. It isn’t...it’s not seamless, coming back. I don’t know why I thought it would be. Life goes on.”

Clarke doesn’t know what to say to that.

Octavia stares ahead, as if trying to collect her thoughts. “I just...I don’t know. When I got back, I didn’t want to latch onto you, to assume that things would be the same. I felt like I was disrupting everyone’s lives.”

“You are,” Clarke admits, waiting for Octavia to look at her before continuing. “You’re disrupting everything in the best way possible. We’ve all missed you like crazy.”

Octavia tosses her cigarette on the ground, grinding it with her heel despite that she barely smoked it. 

“I’ve missed you too. I know we haven’t spent time together, but just being in the same vicinity, I...I would have been lost coming back without you and Bellamy. I won’t lie, it’s strange coming back to new people who are closer to our friends than I am these days. But, I understand it, I really do. I’m glad you’ve had Raven as a best friend here throughout the years, that you and Bellamy have had this amazing group. I just feel like I’m not sure where I fit here yet, or if I do. But you guys, you guys make it so much easier.”

“O, you’ll always fit with me,” Clarke promises, swallowing tears. She’s not much of a crier, but she’s solidly drunk. “And yeah, Raven has been a best friend to me. But you, idiot, are my _ sister _. Nothing can or will ever change that. You, and Bellamy...you’re stuck with me for life, more than anyone else in that bar. You’re my family.”

Clarke gets a glimpse of Octavia’s goofy smile, the same crooked one that Bellamy has, before she pulls her into a tight hug. Clarke squeezes her back, feeling like a kid again. Feeling at home again. Octavia sniffles, which isn’t too surprising. She’s never been one to shy away from her emotions and Clarke finds herself relieved that’s still the case. That this Octavia is still her Octavia, at least in most ways.

They’re so caught up in their hug they don’t hear the door open.

“Crying at a Christmas party?” Raven teases. “How drunk are you two?”

Clarke laughs as her and Octavia break apart, wiping under her eyes.

“Well Clarke is really drunk, and I just cry a lot,” Octavia laughs. 

“C’mon,” Raven laughs, nodding inside as she holds open the door. “Someone decided were playing truth or dare and I think we all need a shot before this begins.”

\--∞--

Bellamy sits back down in the same circle they were in thirty minutes ago, except people are now twice as drunk as when they started playing never have I ever. The prospect of playing truth or dare makes Bellamy a little nervous, which is ridiculous. He’s nearly thirty years old, afraid of a middle school game. Still, no dare in his bar with this group is going to end well for him. Then there’s the truth option, which makes him anxious. Sure he knows that he can just lie, but he’s always been a terrible liar. Even his feelings for Clarke don’t seem to be much of a secret to anyone these days, despite that he’s never confided in a single one of them about her. 

“So who put this game in the mix anyway?” Emori asks, plopping down ungracefully into Murphy’s lap. 

“I did,” Sasha says with a bright smile on her face. “Figured it’s the best way to get to know you all pretty fast,” she laughs. 

“I like the way you think,” Jasper tells her, pointing a little aggressively in her direction. Wells laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s friends with this group of people.

“Okay, okay, let’s start,” Raven says impatiently. 

Monty starts off the game and the first thirty minutes are innocent enough that Bellamy thinks maybe he was overreacting about the game. Sure, the bar probably now violates a few health code and he knows much more about his friends than he ever wanted to, but it’s going just fine.

“Clarke,” Jasper says, eyes mischievous. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Clarke answer confidently.

“Is that because you can’t stand?” Jackson laughs. He gets a handful of popcorn thrown in his face for the joke.

“Oh, Clarke,” Jasper says, tapping his chin and eyeing her like a science experiment. “_ Truthfully _, do you remember any of the last hour of last year’s party?”

Everyone bursts into laughter and Bellamy just shakes his head, smiling at the memory even though he was pretty pissed at the time.

“That’s not even a real question, everyone already knows that story!” Clarke complains, laughing herself.

“I know,” Jasper shrugs. “I just wanted to bring it up again.”

“It wasn’t even my fault, I was basically _ roofied _,” Clarke says, shooting a hard glare at Murphy and Emori.

“So dramatic,” Murphy sighs. “They were pot brownies, not molly.”

“Well no one knew that and I had like three and was crossfaded. Clearly, not my fault.”

“Was it your fault when you cartwheeled into the christmas tree?” Harper asks, curling over in laughter.

“No, it wasn’t!”

“Okay, I’m going to need to hear this story,” Sasha says, already laughing even though she hasn’t heard the whole of it yet. 

“That’s pretty much it,” Clarke says. 

“So as we were saying, Clarke had three pot brownies,” Miller starts, ignoring Clarke’s attempts to move on. “It was right around the time Bellamy was yelling at us for doing shots off the pool table-”

“And you still owe me $300, by the way,” Bellamy cuts him off.

“Sure,” Miller says, dismissively waving him off. “Anyways, it hit Clarke at once and well...she was the start of the show. The grand finale being the cartwheel into the christmas tree. That’s when Bellamy ended the party and put Clarke to bed upstairs. Rumor has it there was no sign of life until 2pm the next day.”

“I took the couch, obviously,” Bellamy quickly lies. He’s not sure why he felt the need to blurt that, it’s not like anything technically happened, but if the relief on Clarke’s face is anything to go by, he thinks he did the right thing.

“No shit,” Murphy laughs. “Bellamy the gentleman host.”

Bellamy thinks Clarke’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of red, but maybe she’s just flushed from drinking. Honestly, he didn’t even need to lie about that. All they did is sleep in the same bed, no big deal. Well, Bellamy also woke up with Clarke wrapped in his arms, but he was up before her so she doesn’t even remember that part. No reason to feel weird about that. 

Bellamy spares a glance at Cillian, who Clarke is leaning against. He has an easy smile on his face but hasn’t said anything.

\--∞--

Clarke switches to water halfway through the game of truth or dare, and that’s even before they decided to revisit Clarke’s disastrous christmas last year. They can all laugh about it now, but Clarke didn’t talk to Murphy or Emori for three weeks before she caved when they showed up at her house with her favorite chinese takeout. 

She doesn’t remember much of the last hour of the night, but she does have a very distinct memory of begging Bellamy not to leave after she climbed into his bed wearing one of his sweatshirts. The memory is blurry, but even more clear is the memory of her waking up in the early morning hours with Bellamy’s arm wrapped around her waist, his hand snaked under her shirt. Even hungover, she knew she should extract herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Not when she could feel his rough fingertips sweep across her bare stomach everytime he shifted. Not when she could feel the heat of his breath against her neck or how he pulled her closer to him in his sleep like it was an instinct. Why did they have to bring that night up?

Clarke takes another gulp of water and tries to focus on the game again. Bellamy is up and looking around the circle, still deciding on a victim. She thinks he shoots her a smirk before he calls on Octavia. 

“Octavia, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” she answers primly, as if she’s the most innocent woman in the world.

“Octavia,” Bellamy starts dramatically. “Did Clarke really drive the corolla into the ditch?”

Octavia opens her mouth in surprise before she bursts into laugher. “You told him!” she accuses Clarke. 

Clarke breaks into her own fit of giggles. “I’m sorry!” she cries, now laughing hysterically. Bellamy is aware no one else knows what’s going on, but he’s having too much fun watching this to care. He’s been sitting on this one for years. 

“I crashed the corolla into a ditch junior year,” Octavia explains, wiping tears from her eyes but unable to stop from laughing. “I’m sorry, it’s not that funny, I’m just drunk.” At this point, everyone else is laughing along anyways, if only because everyone is even drunker than Octavia, and the girls’ laughter is contagious. “Clarke covered for me so Bellamy wouldn’t be mad at me, since him and Clarke were already at each others' throats anyways,” she continues. “But she apparently ratted me out at some point.”

Clarke is still laughing and clutches her stomach as she tries to calm down, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did, I was just trying to make conversation, because it was…” she trails off, seemingly sobering up a little at the memory.

Bellamy didn’t really think about that, how this small funny story was attached to such a huge day for them. Such an intimate moment that doesn’t have a place in this raucous moment. He feels a little bad for bringing it up now.

“Anyways,” Clarke sighs, finally catching her breath as everyone else’s laughter dies down. It didn’t escape Bellamy’s attention that Cillian wasn’t laughing with the rest of them.

They go through a few more rounds before everyone is clearly exhausted and over the game. It ends on a strange note when Raven asks Sasha a series of invasive questions before Harper points out that she’s only supposed to ask her one. 

“Alright, I need my bed,” Harper admits, laying down to rest her head on Monty’s lap. 

“I’m surprised we lasted this long,” Monty smiles at her, stroking her hair. “Jordan was up half the night every night this week,” he explains to the group. “Harper’s mom has her work cut out for her tonight, he’s having a terrible week.”

“I hate to tell you, but it gets worse before it gets better,” Bellamy laughs. Clarke smiles knowingly at him. 

“I miss him,” Harper pouts, closing her eyes. 

“I know, babe,” Monty coos, still stroking her hair. 

“I think that’s a wrap,” Jackson says, standing. He starts collecting stray bottles and cups around the circle.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Bellamy tells him. “I’m going to clean up tomorrow.”

“Alone?” Jackson questions.

“Maybe I’ll call in some employees for some overtime,” Bellamy says, smirking at Murphy and Emori.

Murphy shakes his head. “Don’t even look at us.”

\--∞--

Despite Bellamy insisting he’ll clean in the morning, they all do their best to at least tidy up the place and put away the left over food. Clarke grabs the bowls of popcorn and follows Raven into the kitchen where she’s putting trays of leftover food into the fridge.

Clarke didn’t understand until the very end of truth or dare. It was then that Raven’s brazen attitude towards Sasha suddenly became crystal clear to her. Raven is mostly two things when she’s drunk: aggressive and territorial.

“So Wells, huh?” Clarke says, setting the bowls on the counter.

Raven shuts the fridge. “Not now, Griffin,” she says, opening a water bottle.

“I didn’t know.”

Raven sighs, leaning against the counter next to Clarke. “Me neither.”

\--∞--

Clarke walks up to Bellamy as she pulls her peacoat back on. Cillian and her are amongst the last to leave, but their uber is only a few minutes away.

“We’re going to head out. Thanks for hosting...again,” she laughs. 

Warmth pools in her stomach from the small smile he gives her and the soft expression in his eyes that make her feel like she’s the only person in the world. If only that were true. 

“It’s my honor,” he tells her, still smiling. 

“Hey, Bell?”

“Yeah?” he asks, his smile fading as if he’s afraid of what she might ask.

“Why did you lie?”

Bellamy opens his mouth to answer, but Cillian’s voice cuts through their conversation.

“Car’s here, Clarke,” he tells her from where he’s standing at the door.

Clarke turns to Bellamy, but shakes her head. Maybe she doesn’t want an answer to that.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night at my parents?”

“Of course,” he says. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

Clarke expects him to give her a peck on the cheek like he always does, but he doesn’t. Bellamy just stands there, hands in his pockets. 

“Goodnight,” she says finally, turning back to Cillian.

\--∞--

The air feels frigid when they step outside. Even with her jacket on, Clarke rubs her arms in an attempt to stay warm before they climb into the backseat of their uber. 

“That was fun,” Clarke sighs. “Did you have a good time?”

“Your friends are nothing if not entertaining, babe,” he laughs. 

They sit in a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, both exhausted and still a little drunk. 

“I didn’t realize you and Lexa were friends before you started dating,” Cillian says, breaking the silence. 

“What?” she answers dumbly, confused at his abrupt mention of her. She hasn’t thought about Lexa in a long time.

“Well, that’s why you drank during that round of never have I ever, right? About falling for a friend? You’ve never mentioned any other serious relationships, I just assumed…”

“_ Oh _.” Clarke recovers quickly. “Yeah, we were friends for a couple weeks before she asked me out, so I thought that counted.”

Cillian just hums in response and they don’t say anything else the rest of the way back to Cillian’s apartment. Yet, there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before, one that Clarke doesn’t understand.

Once he let’s them into his place, Clarke follows him into the kitchen where he pours them glasses of water. 

“Everything okay, babe?” she asks, rubbing his arm. She feels nervous, like she’s made him mad but she doesn’t understand why.

“Yeah, of course,” he nods, taking a long gulp of water. Clarke does the same. 

“Actually, I’ve got to ask you something.”

“Okay.” Clarke sets down her glass of water, her stomach flipping nervously. 

“Were you and Bellamy ever involved? Did you ever get together?”

Clarke can feel her eyes grow wide. Maybe she should have expected that question, but she really didn’t. At least not tonight. 

“I mean, after the time...after Lucie,” he clarifies when she doesn’t say anything. He says it like that should be obvious, but adds it nonetheless. 

“Why would you even ask that?” Clarke asks, voice bewildered. She can feel herself growing unnecessarily defensive because of the alcohol in her system. She feels irrationally mad at him for seeing something she’s tried to bury for so long. But that’s her fault, not his. 

“That’s not an answer, Clarke. Unless, maybe it is.”

“Of course not,” she lies. Well, maybe it’s not a lie. Just like earlier in the evening when she was wondering what _ falling for _ meant, she wonders what the classification of “involved” or “getting together” technically is. She tells herself it’s not really a lie, because it was just that one other time, and that was so long ago. It didn’t mean anything to either of them. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to.

“Okay,” Cillian sighs. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” He presses a quick kiss to her head before he walks out of the room, but Clarke can’t feel any warmth behind it.


	10. I'm in the Dark, Show a Little Loving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Lovers" by Anna of the North.

**~6 1/2 Years Ago**

_Who _ . That’s the first question her parents ask when they sit down for coffee at the dining room table in the morning. _ Whose baby _ ? _ Who’s the father? _ Clarke didn’t know until that very moment that she wouldn’t - that she _ couldn’t _ \- tell them about Bellamy. All of it still felt too raw, the entire topic an exposed nerve that she couldn’t bear to touch. 

Clarke was also a little bit afraid of the deadly look that shadowed her father’s eyes as soon as her mom asked. Despite her anger with Bellamy, some instinct in that moment made her want to protect him from her father, which was surprising, to say the least. Their whole reaction to the news was surprising.

Her parents were playing each others’ roles and it was unsettling to Clarke. Abby has always been the head strong, type A nutcase of the two of them. She freaked out over the simplest things, in Clarke’s opinion. Jake, on the other hand, had always been the voice of reason. He calmed both her and Abby, talked them both off of their various ledges. But now...her dad had barely said a word. Clarke thinks his body has been tense since the moment she told them. 

Instead, it’s Abby who takes the lead. She does so calmly, keeping her own emotions in check despite the despair and disappointment that Clarke is sure she must be feeling. Even more so, she simultaneously takes care of Jake, taking his hand in hers as if there is a telepathic connection that allows Abby to understand when he needs the comfort. 

_ He needs comfort because you broke his heart _, Clarke reminds herself. 

“Clarke?” Abby asks again. “Honey, who’s the father? Is it Finn?”

Clarke shakes her head at that. “No, no it was…” She thinks of Bellamy’s freckles and curls, warm brown eyes she’s known for years and years. She thinks of them dark and hungry, the feel of his breath on her neck as he pants against her. “It was just a guy from a party. He was from another school, I don’t even know his last name.”

“A party?” Abby asks, eyebrows shooting up.

“Mom, I think we’re beyond that,” Clarke groans. Going to parties and lying about it hardly seems important anymore, given her current situation. 

Abby drops the subject and doesn’t ask about the father again. Either they believe her or respect her denial enough to table the topic for the time being. Instead, Abby shifts into doctor mode. She lays out Clarke’s options, but they’re the same ones that Clarke has already mulled over for days. She still isn’t any closer to reaching a decision. While it certainly lifted the burden of handling it alone, telling her parents definitely didn’t solve all her problems. Far from it.

“Honestly, Mom, I thought you’d want me to...you know. Not have it,” Clarke admits. There’s no hostility in her voice, only genuine surprise. As horrible as it sounds, she didn’t expect her Mom to be so supportive. 

Abby shakes her head, apparently not insulted. “Clarke, I can’t make this decision for you. We love you, but you need to make this decision on your own.” Abby must sense her trepidation at those words. “Sweetheart, we’re here for you. Whatever you decide,” she adds, softer this time.

Clarke glances at her dad. He nods in agreement at Abby’s statement but he’s tight lipped, his eyes focused on his hands that are tightly clasped on the table. It breaks her heart how much she’s disappointed him. With her mom, she had feared anger, but with her dad, it was always disappointment. She goes upstairs to her room after that, trying and failing to ignore her parents’ hushed tones when she does. 

\--∞--

They sit down to dinner that night as if everything is normal. As if Clarke didn’t throw a wrench in their family, as if they aren’t grasping for the pieces and hastily trying to put it back together. The only sounds in the dining room are silverware occasionally scraping against plates. No one seems to have much of an appetite.

“Can you make the appointment, Mom?” Clarke asks, breaking the silence. Her voice sounds too loud, as if she startled the room itself. 

Abby pauses, setting her fork down. She doesn’t ask Clarke to clarify, she knows exactly what appointment she’s referring to. “Clarke, we need to first make an appointment with the doctor to confirm that the home tests are correct, and-”

“Okay, let’s make both then,” Clarke cuts Abby off. Her parents exchange a look, clear pity in their eyes. “I’m not really hungry, I’m going to bed,” she adds, excusing herself before they can respond. When she glances at her parents’ plates on her way out, she notices neither of them have touched their food either. 

\--∞--

Clarke wonders what Bellamy is doing as she gazes out the window on her way to the hospital the next morning, not really taking in any of her surroundings. She can’t help herself these days. Maybe when it’s all over, she’ll be able to properly move on. Until then, she feels tethered to him in a way that she hates. 

Her mom doesn’t say a word, just drives onward as the radio hums on a low volume. As chief of surgery at Arkadia Memorial Hospital, Abby was able to pull a few strings to get Clarke in immediately to see one of their top OB-GYN doctors. Abby told Clarke that Dr. Jackson was one of the best, despite only being in his late 20’s. Clarke doesn’t see how that matters much at this point. She only has to see him twice, and then it’ll all be over. 

When they get to the hospital, they check in and then sit in the faux leather chairs in the waiting area that squeak when you shift. Clarke bites her fingernails until they’re nearly bleeding. After a few minutes, her mom takes her hand and holds it between hers. Clarke knows she does it so she’ll stop biting her nails, but it’s calming to her all the same. 

“Clarke Griffin?” the nurse calls. 

Abby stands with Clarke, as if to go in with her. It isn’t until that very moment that Clarke realizes that she can’t, that she needs to do this alone. Deep down, Clarke recognizes there’s only one other person who should be in the room with her, but he’s not here. That was her choice.

“I’m okay, Mom. I want to do this alone,” she says quietly. The nurse waits patiently, clipboard in her hands. 

“Are you sure?”

Clarke nods and walks away before her mom can say anything further. She’s not sure if Abby is hurt or understands, but Clarke can’t focus on that for long. She’s too nervous about what lies ahead.

After the nurse takes her vitals and blood work, she leaves Clarke to change into the hospital gown folded on the chair. Clarke hates this sterile room, everything about it. The smell, the looks of it. Then she remembers she’s planning on a career where she has to be in rooms like these all day. 

She’s sitting on the exam table, legs swinging with restless energy, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.” The door swings open to reveal a young, attractive doctor with an easy smile and warm eyes. 

“Hi, Clarke. It’s great to meet you,” Dr. Jackson tells her with a smile, shaking her hand.

“Hi,” she answers lamely. 

“I’ve worked with your Mom on a few surgeries before she became chief. She’s a great doctor.”

“Yeah, she is,” Clarke agrees, unsure of what else to say. 

As Dr. Jackson sets up the ultrasound equipment, he chats easily with Clarke about mindless topics. Clarke decides she likes him. He has a calming personality and puts her at ease with his quiet confidence. When he asks questions about her age and how far along she thinks she is, Clarke doesn’t see any judgement on his face. That’s saying something, because she’s certainly looking closely for it.

Finally, the ultrasound tech comes in so they can get started. Clarke sucks in a breath as she inserts the ultrasound probe into her and waits, feeling like she’s waiting for the world to end. In the small moment of quiet when no one says anything and she doesn’t hear anything, Clarke is bewildered to realize how scared she is that something might be wrong. She already has an appointment to terminate the pregnancy, and yet she suddenly finds herself praying that everything is okay with this baby that she never wanted. 

As she’s contemplating that, a steady beat begins to echo throughout the small exam room. It’s a precious drum, a song she wants to memorize and hold close to her forever. She feels her heart in her throat. 

“Ah, there we go,” Dr. Jackson says. “This little spot here,” he continues, pointing to an almost indistinguishable shape on the screen, “is the fetus.” Clarke notices how he doesn’t say that it’s her baby, how he doesn’t use the word ‘baby’ at all. She thinks he does it on purpose and appreciates it. She likes him all the more for it.

Clarke swallows back tears, not wanting to cry in front of these strangers. The longer she stares at the screen, the longer the heartbeat rings in her ears, and the more relieved she is that her mom already made the other appointment for the next day. 

Unsurprisingly, her mind again drifts to Bellamy, wondering what he would be doing if he were with her now. She wonders how he would react to all this and realizes she has absolutely no idea, not even a guess. Clarke can’t even conjure up some fantasy in her imagination about how he might react. Regardless of how long he’s been in her life, how long he’s simply just _ been there _, she doesn’t really know him at all. 

“Do you want a photo?” Dr. Jackson asks before they shut the machine down.

“That won’t be necessary,” she tells him, tearing her eyes from the screen and forcing herself to look at him again. If Dr. Jackson thinks anything of that response, he doesn’t show it.

\--∞--

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?” her mom asks as they drive back to the house.

Clarke nods in response but can’t bring herself to say anything. She doesn’t have words for how she’s feeling, but she knows she’s not alright, not really. She doesn’t know what she is. The heartbeat echoes in her head and Bellamy’s freckles keep flashing behind her eyes. It’s so stupid, so random, but that’s what keeps resurfacing.

“Well, the appointment with Dr. Jackson is all set for tomorrow afternoon,” Abby tries. 

“Yeah, he talked to me about it before I left.”

They’re quiet for a few more minutes before Abby speaks again.

“You’re sure this is what you want, right, Clarke? Whatever you decide, you have our support, but it’s a big decision.”

“No, it’s not,” Clarke snaps. “I just want to get this over with,” she adds, after a beat. 

Abby sighs, but doesn’t say anything further.

\--∞--

Since the appointment is first thing the next morning, Clarke has the rest of the day to sit around the house and dwell on it. She wishes she was relieved. She thought she would be, but somehow relief has transformed into dread. It happened so subtly that she barely noticed. 

Clarke finds herself wishing she took Dr. Jackson up on the offer for that picture. That’s kind of messed up though, to have a picture when she’s not keeping it. Still, she wishes she had something tangible to look at now. She watches television and spends the afternoon trying to ignore the growing pit in her stomach over the whole thing. 

At one point, sick of watching daytime reruns, she does that stupid thing where she puts a rolled up sweatshirt under her shirt. She feels like an idiot for it, even more so when she imagines her and Bellamy’s baby growing there instead of a ball of cotton and her stomach swoops because of it. 

She’s laying on the couch in the downstairs den, the smell of BBQ chicken drifting in from the kitchen, when it dawns on her like an epiphany. This thing in her gut that she’s been trying to ignore - this pit, this dread - it’s instinct. It’s intuition. She’s not one to make decisions based on emotion, but what she’s been doing is pushing away her own intuition. That seems like something else entirely, not to trust your own intuition. It feels wrong.

When she sits down to dinner with her parents, Clarke is still lost in her thoughts. She pushes her food around her plate for a few minutes before she’s certain that she’s reached a final decision. She’s not sure whether she wants to or can raise this kid, but she’s entirely certain she wants this kid to exist. 

Clarke drops her fork with so little grace that it clatters harshly on the table, causing her parents to look up at her in alarm. 

“Sorry,” she mutters. They’re about to continue eating, when she blurts, “I changed my mind.” 

Clarke was afraid to say it out loud, afraid of their reaction. They said they would support her either way, but she can’t help but wonder if they weren't still incredibly relieved when she decided not to keep it. She can’t help but wonder if they’ll be disappointed she changed her mind. 

“I want to have the baby,” Clarke repeats, in part because her parents have yet to say anything, in part because she needs to say it out loud for it to feel real. A final decision. She’s going to have a baby. She’s going to have Bellamy’s baby. 

Her parents set their silverware down and Clarke doesn't miss how her dad takes a gulp of his red wine. 

“Okay,” Abby starts, hesitant. “Are you sure, Clarke? Really sure? There’s no changing your mind after this.”

“I’m sure,” Clarke insists, forcing some confidence into her voice that she doesn’t necessarily feel. “I don’t know about...I’m not sure about whether maybe adoption is better, I’m just sure...I just know I want to have the baby.” Every time she says it, it becomes a little easier to reconcile with.

“Well, okay then,” Abby declares, the hesitancy transforming into something like determination. It’s the voice Abby uses when she’s on a mission, whether it’s a trip to the grocery store or shouting orders in the ER. “I’ll call Jackson tonight, cancel tomorrow’s appointment, but there’s a lot we need to talk about and do. First things first, we’ll call Princeton tomorrow to defer your acceptance.”

Abby pauses and looks at Jake expectantly. He seems to wince at the word Princeton but nods in agreement. Clarke’s heart sinks when he doesn’t say anything else.

“We’ll set up another appointment with Jackson, which I think would be your 16 week, in July,” Abby continues, as if reciting a to-do list. Clarke nods along, not sure what to add. Then Abby pauses, as if struggling with her words. 

“Clarke, I know it’s difficult and uncomfortable, but you need to think about telling the father if you’re going to have this baby.”

Clarke feels any calmness about the situation instantly evaporate. She shakes her head vehemently. “No, no I don’t want to do that. I can’t. He won’t want anything to do with this.”

_ You don’t know that _ , the nagging little voice in her head reminds her. Still, there’s a louder voice that reminds her that Bellamy doesn’t want her, has already rejected her. He _ never _ wanted her. One night doesn’t change that. 

“Clarke, if you decide on an adoption, he’ll need to sign away his parental rights.”

“Why?” Clarke snaps. 

Abby sighs. “It’s just the way it works, Clarke.”

“If I keep it?”

Abby raises her eyebrows at that. Despite Clarke voicing her uncertainty, she knows both her parents probably assumed adoption would eventually be the chosen route. 

“Well, _ if _ that’s what you decide, you aren’t obligated to list him on the birth certificate. But that’s not a reason to keep a baby.”

“I know that,” Clarke snaps again. She knows she’s misdirecting her anger, but she’s not sure who to direct it at right now. She’s frustrated by the whole situation. “That’s not why I...I was just wondering, that’s all,” Clarke adds, trying to calm down. 

Abby’s eyes are full of pity and Clarke hates Bellamy all the more for making her the subject of anyone’s pity. Clarke looks down at her plate when her mom doesn’t answer. 

“Clarke,” Abby starts, her voice akin to someone trying to calm a wild animal. “Is there a reason he shouldn’t be in this child’s life? If he’s dangerous-”

“No, no, he’s not,” Clarke quickly cuts her off. “Of course he’s not.”

Abby eyes her curiously and it takes Clarke a beat to realize her mistake. Why would she defend someone she doesn’t know so quickly? Why would she be so sure of a stranger from a party?

“Clarke, you know you can tell us who it is,” Abby tries.

“I told you, it’s just-”

“Is it Finn?” Abby cuts her off. 

Clarke scoffs at that. “Of course not.”

“Wells? Jasper or Monty?”

“Mom!” Clarke scolds, cheeks burning pink and disgusted at the thought. 

Abby puts her hands up defensively. “Sweetheart, you aren’t acting like this is someone you don’t know.”

“I don’t want to talk about this tonight,” Clarke compromises. She knows she won’t be able to keep this a secret forever, and that it’s probably wrong to do so anyways. Still, she can’t talk about it tonight. She isn’t ready for that, not yet. 

Abby nods in agreement, seemingly appeased at the confirmation that Clarke lied, even if she’s not willing to tell the truth just yet. 

“I’m going to bed,” Clarke announces, suddenly exhausted by the intensity of their brief conversation. 

Her parents tell her goodnight and she climbs the stairs, the only thought on her mind how she’s having a baby. How she isn’t going to Princeton. Certainly not now, but maybe not ever. How she’s going to be - already is - tied to Bellamy forever in a way she never expected.

\--∞--

Clarke is laying on her bed that night in a t-shirt and leggings, hair still wet from her shower. She’s snuggled up with a throw blanket and although it’s only 9pm, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stay awake much longer. Now that she knows why she’s been so tired, she’s stopped fighting it.

She’s mindlessly watching the same Friends reruns that her and Octavia always seemed to have on in the background when she hears a knock at the door. 

“Yeah?” she asks, sitting up. 

“Hey, kiddo,” her dad greets, stepping into her room. He runs a hand through his hair, as if nervous. Clarke smiles when she realizes Bellamy has the same habit, and then silently curses herself for noticing such a thing. This might be the first time Clarke has ever seen her dad nervous, so she wouldn’t really know the signs. 

“Hi,” she murmurs as he sits down on her bed next to her.

“So, I think we can agree I haven’t been handling this very well,” he prompts. 

Clarke laughs lightly. At least her dad is self-aware. 

“I thought maybe I turned you into a mute,” she agrees, drawing out a laugh from him.

“Clarke,” he says, voice more serious as he tucks a hair behind her ear. “I love you so much. You’re my whole life. Not a thing in the world matters more to me than you and your mom.”

Clarke gives him a small smile. “I know, Dad.”

“I just want the absolute best for you, that future that I’ve watched you work so hard for,” he continues. “The thought of some boy taking that away from you...I felt like I was going to lose my mind. I’m sorry though, because it only affected you. This isn’t about him, this is about you. We love you, and we’re here for you through this, no matter what. We’re a team and you’re not alone in this. So as long as you’re okay with your decisions, then I’m behind them 100%. I’ll always be your number one fan, kiddo.”

Clarke can’t help the tears that well up in her eyes. 

“I hope it goes without saying, that means I’m done being a mute asshole,” he adds. 

Clarke laughs at that, but it’s watery from her unshed tears. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” she apologizes. “Hormones, I guess,” she laughs, voice shaky as she tries to wipe her tears away.

“Hey now,” Jake says, pulling her into a hug. “You can cry or shout or cheer or whatever you need to do.” He presses a kiss to the side of her head but doesn’t let her go. “Hormones or not, this is a lot for a kid to deal with. It’s a lot of stress and change, but we’re going to get through it.”

Clarke nods into his shoulder, letting him hold her for a little while longer before pulling away. “I guess I’m not a kid anymore,” she counters.

Jake gives her a skeptical look. “Maybe not, but you’ll always be _ my _kid. And I’ll always be your dad, always with you.”

“I love you, Dad,” she says, hugging him again. 

“Alright, what are we watching here?” he asks, settling down on the bed next to her when she lets him go. 

Clarke curls into his side, resting her head on his chest. She was already exhausted and the emotional conversation quickly drained what was left of her energy. 

“Ya know, the one where Chandler…” She fights the way her eyes are drooping, struggling to stay open. “Then Joey and the monkey,” she yawns, unaware she isn’t making much sense. She doesn’t make it another thirty seconds before she’s sound asleep.

\--∞--

On Saturday, just over a week after finding out about the pregnancy, Clarke is laying on the couch with her laptop. Her parents both have the day off but are getting ready for an Eligius charity event. Since the night she decided to have the baby, she officially deferred her Princeton acceptance and made a 16 week appointment with Dr. Jackson for mid-July. With that done, there isn’t much left to do except sit around and stress. She spends most of the day browsing pregnancy websites and blogs, which sometimes gives her answers and sometimes only scares her more. Somehow, throughout this whole ordeal, she hadn’t given much thought to the fact that she’d have to give birth. The thought of how painful she knows that must be gives her intense anxiety so she tries not to think about it.

Because she knows the exact date of the baby’s conception, she knows exactly how far along she is. Given it’s Saturday, she’s officially 11 weeks along. Perusing the internet, she learns the baby is about the size of a lime and that pretty much all of the negative symptoms will remain in full swing - fatigue, nausea, leg cramps, and mood swings. She didn’t need the internet to tell her that though. She doesn’t think she’s showing yet, and given that she’s still throwing up half her food, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’s lost weight instead of gaining it.

Eventually she slams her computer shut, frustrated with the loads of information being pumped into her head that she can’t seem to process. She opens her phone and starts scrolling through her instagram feed instead, feeling like she exists in a bubble outside of reality. She responds to her friends’ group chat like she always does, but no one has any idea what’s going on with her. She hasn’t worked up the courage to tell her best friends how quickly her life has been derailed, suddenly traveling full speed ahead in a direction she never expected. 

As far as her friends know, she’s hanging out with her family before heading to Princeton in August, bored out of her mind in Arkadia without them. It makes her feel like she’s living in a fantasy. In some ways the pretend normalcy is nice, but when she remembers how disingenuous that fantasy is, it just feels isolating instead. 

Besides her parents, no one has a clue what she’s going through. Her instagram feed is full of her friends’ summer adventures, but there’s only one person she really feels like stalking and he happens to be one of those annoying people who thinks that they’re above social media accounts. 

Clarke used to be able to keep tabs on Bellamy, at least to some extent, via Octavia’s pages. Being at military training, Octavia hasn’t been active since she left either. Clarke has an email from Octavia sitting in her inbox, but she hasn’t responded yet. She isn’t sure how to lie to her best friend but she’s certain she needs to until she’s ready to tell Bellamy. So she says nothing instead. She feels guilty about it, but not guilty enough to call Bellamy.

She’s been mindlessly scrolling through her feed for ten minutes when she notices the little red notification dot, alerting her she has a new follower request. She furrows her eyebrows, surprised to see that it’s Raven Reyes that requested to follow her. 

_ Raven _ , she thinks. _ Nobody has a clue what’s going on in her life besides her parents...and Raven Reyes, of all people. _

Clarke accepts the request and before she can overthink it, she opens her text thread with Raven. Neither has said anything since their exchange last week when Raven had checked up on her. 

** _Clarke: _ ** _ Hey. Decided to keep it… _

Clarke holds her breath, nervous as she waits for a response and berating herself for even sending the text. It’s not like Raven is her friend. She probably doesn’t even care, was probably just being nice, out of pity or kindness or both. What was she think-

** _Raven: _ ** _ Wow, big decision, Griffin. Feeling okay about it? Keeping it keeping it or considering adoption? _

Under other circumstances, Clarke might feel taken aback by Raven’s bluntness. She might have cringed at the invasiveness of the questions. As it is, she’s starting to realize that this is just how Raven operates. Most surprising is that Clarke finds it refreshing. She doesn’t have time for games in her life right now, not when she’s lying to everyone else. The blunt honesty feels like a relief. 

There’s also a certain freedom in talking about all of this with someone who doesn’t really know her. Raven doesn’t have any expectations of her - certainly no good ones given the circumstances of how they met. Clarke doesn’t have to sugarcoat anything around this girl, just like she won’t expect sugarcoating from her. 

** _Clarke: _ ** _ I’m not sure, so I guess that means considering adoption. I think I’m feeling...okay. I had to follow my gut. _

** _Raven: _ ** _ What are you doing tonight? _

Clarke frowns at that. It wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

** _Clarke_ ** **: ** _ Thinking about being pregnant. _

** _Raven_ ** _ : Ha-ha. I’m coming over - be there in 20. _

Clarke’s eyes bug out as she hurries to respond. 

** _Clarke_ ** : _ Oh thanks, but I’m okay! You don’t have to come over. _

** _Raven_ ** _ : Too late, see you soon. _

She’s not entirely sure that Raven really is coming over. Sure, she gave her the address to her house, but Raven didn’t respond after that. She doesn’t really know Raven well enough to guess as to if that was just a strange joke that she misinterpreted or if she’s really coming.

Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on her front door. Clarke figured her parents would be gone by now, so she didn’t say anything about it to them, but they’re still chatting in the kitchen. 

“Uh, I’ll get it,” Clarke yells, climbing off the couch. 

“Clarke, are you expecting someone?” her mom calls. 

“Uh, kind of,” Clarke mutters, mostly to herself.

Clarke pulls the door open and finds Raven standing there in a pair of jean shorts and an old Rolling Stones concert t-shirt. She’s wearing her signature pony tail and carrying a plastic grocery bag on each arm. 

“Hey, Clarke,” she says with a smile. 

“Hey,” Clarke greets. “Come on in,” she adds, stepping aside and waving her in. She keeps her voice light despite being confused by the entire scenario.

“Woah. Your house is insane, Griffin,” Raven tells her as they walk through the foyer and into the kitchen. 

“Oh, thanks,” she replies. She’s never sure what to say when people comment on her family’s wealth. 

When they walk into the kitchen, they find Abby and Jake bent over Jake’s laptop at the kitchen island. Their heads pop up in unison when Raven sets the groceries on the island, both of them wearing confused expressions.

“Mom, Dad, this is Raven,” Clarke introduces. “Raven, my parents.”

“Nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Griffin,” Raven greets, smile radiant as she offers her hand to her dad with confidence. 

“Yeah, you too,” Jake says, shaking her hand. “So how do you two know each other? I thought I knew all of Clarke’s friends but I guess one flew under the radar,” Jake laughs. 

Clarke swallows hard, too preoccupied thinking about what to tell him to laugh at his joke. Her parents know Clarke dumped Finn but Clarke never told them the details, certainly not the part about accidentally becoming the other woman. Rationally, she knew it wasn’t her fault, but she still felt too embarrassed over the whole ordeal. She should probably tell them at some point. It hardly feels like it matters anymore anyways. 

Raven laughs at her dad’s comment. “Oh, we’re just friends from school,” Raven lies easily. “I’m in the class above Clarke. I just moved back to Arkadia for school.”

“What have you got there?” Abby asks with a smile, nodding at Raven’s bags. Clarke thinks she’s probably just happy Clarke isn’t spending another night alone. 

“Oh, just some Saturday night essentials,” Raven tells them, pulling out ice cream, chocolate, chips, and a few other snacks. 

“Well, it looks like you guys have a fun night planned,” Abby laughs, giving Clarke a bit of a suspicious look. She knows her mom doesn’t buy that Clarke has a secret friend that they’ve never heard of. Clarke just shrugs. She’ll fill her in later. 

“We’ve got to get going, we’re off to the Eligius summer charity auction,” Abby says. 

“Eligius?” Raven asks. She can’t hide the excitement in her voice, the way her face lights up. 

“Yeah, I’m an Environmental Engineer there,” Jake clarifies.

“That’s awesome,” Raven gushes. “I’m going to work there after I graduate,” Raven tells him. She says it like it’s a fact. An inevitable future instead of a goal. 

Jake looks both amused and impressed by her confidence. “With that attitude, I don’t doubt you will,” he laughs. 

Once Clarke’s parents leave, the girls migrate to the den to watch movies. They eat and chat easily about mindless topics, commenting and laughing at different things about the movie and Arkadia High. Clarke is surprised that this girl, of all the people in the world, is someone she gets along with. One might say that Finn has a type, that they get along because they’re similar, but it’s not that. They couldn’t be more different from one another, both in personality and upbringing. Somehow though, it’s working. 

It isn’t until halfway through their second movie that the topic of conversation drifts to Clarke’s pregnancy. Given how direct Raven has been, Clarke is surprised it took that long. 

“So, were you seeing someone?” Raven asks. 

Clarke shoots her an amused look, playfully rolling her eyes. “Real subtle,” she laughs. 

“Okay, I won’t beat around the bush,” Raven says, laughing with her. “So, who’s the dad?”

Raven must notice how the humor seems to drain from Clarke, how she tenses at the question. 

“You don’t have to answer, obviously,” Raven adds. 

“Obviously,” Clarke mimics with a smirk, looking down at where she’s picking at a thread on her throw blanket. Raven doesn’t say anything else, clearly waiting for an answer or for Clarke to shut the topic down. Clarke sighs. 

“Honestly, I haven’t told anyone I’m even pregnant, besides my parents...and you.”

“Well damn, I’m pretty special then.”

“More like right place, right time,” Clarke counters. 

“And that,” Raven laughs. 

“Yeah, so, I haven’t told anyone who the father is,” Clarke continues. “I told my parents it was no one, but I don’t think they believe me. I think they’re just giving me space, but that won’t last forever. The guy, it’s...um. It’s complicated.”

Raven raises her brow at that. 

“Well, first off, it’s my best friend’s older brother,” Clarke admits. It feels strange to be talking about this out loud with someone, but not necessarily bad. In fact, it feels like a relief in some ways. “She knows we slept together - it was only the one time - but not about any of this. It’s hard not having her to talk to about all of this. If the father was anyone else, I would have already called her crying about the whole thing.”

Raven looks at her with clear sympathy in her eyes, but not pity. “Who’s your best friend?”

“Octavia Blake,” Clarke tells her, not expecting that to mean anything to Raven. Arkadia High is a pretty big high school. 

“Holy shit!” Raven’s eyes look like they’re going to bug out of her head. She looks...excited? Clarke just looks at her like a deer in headlights, waiting for her to continue. 

“_ Bellamy Blake _ is your baby daddy, Clarke?” Raven nearly screams. 

Clarke groans, throwing her head back against the couch. “Yes,” she admits, confused as ever. “How do you even know them?”

“Well, I know Octavia because we played softball together for a few years before I hurt my knee,” Raven explains. 

Now that she mentions it, Clarke thinks that Octavia mentioned it during the Finn debacle. It hadn’t seemed important in the face of everything else and had slipped from her memory. 

“And Bellamy?” Clarke prompts. 

“Oh, I don’t know Bellamy. Not personally. He was a senior when I was a freshman and my entire class was in love with him,“ Raven explains. “_ Bellamy Blake _ ,” she repeats, as if she’s reminiscing about a fond memory. “Damn, I know a lot of people who would _ love _ to be in your position.”

Clarke shoots her a glare, although there’s no real heat behind it. 

“Okay, well they’d love to have slept with him,” Raven corrects herself. “He was babe. Kind of bad ass in that, _ I don’t give a fuck _ kind of way, and incredibly charming. I think he was kind of smart too, I can’t remember.”

“Yeah well,” Clarke cuts in, having heard enough about Bellamy Blake, the high school heart throb. “We slept together in March, and here we are,” she sighs, gesturing vaguely at her still-flat stomach. 

“So when you said your friend’s older brother, you meant _ older _ brother, huh?”

Clarke sighs. “Yeah, that’s another complication I guess.” If she’s being honest with herself, she thinks that’s part of the reason she’s nervous about telling her parents about him. “It’s all...it’s just all complicated.”

“So, you mean this wasn’t just a one off?” Raven prompts.

“No, it was. I just mean he’s not this...this random guy. That might have made it easier. In fact, we used to really _not_ get along. If we couldn’t get along when nothing was at stake, this feels like a recipe for disaster.” That feels like an understatement. “We also haven’t really spoken since we slept together.”

Raven hums in response. 

“I’m not sure if I want to tell him, if I can,” Clarke continues. “I know I should, I know I need to, eventually. I just know he isn’t going to be happy about it. He doesn’t want anything to do with me and if he wants anything to do with the kid, it’s going to be out of like...moral obligation. He’s a good person, but he isn’t the one choosing to have the baby.”

Raven hums again but Clarke doesn’t say anything else. That’s really all there is to say. She doesn’t want to tell Raven about the embarrassing crush she had on him, it’ll only make her seem more pathetic than she already does. 

“I don’t know, sometimes people surprise you,” Raven says finally. They’re quiet for a moment, snacking on chips as they turn their attention back to the movie. 

“Hey, Raven,” Clarke starts. “I hope you don’t feel like...obligated to check up on me, or something. Really, I’m okay.”

Raven looks confused by that. “I don’t feel obligated,” she counters, voice surprised. 

“Oh.” A beat. “ Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but why would you want to spend your time hanging out with me?”

Raven laughs at that, but Clarke still notices how she falters in her usual confidence. “Honestly, I don’t have a lot of people to hang out with...friends, I mean. I spent most of my high school years with Finn, especially after my knee injury kept me off the sports teams. Then between being a transfer student and studying a lot, it hasn’t really been easy to branch out at Arkadia State.”

“Oh,” Clarke answers, surprised. Here she was thinking Raven was taking pity on her. She hadn’t considered that maybe Raven was also in need of friends. “Well, I could use all the friends I can get right now,” Clarke says, giving her a soft smile. 

Raven returns the smile, looking at ease again. “Great, because you’re actually pretty cool, Griffin, and I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

\--∞--

The second week of August, Bellamy’s mom gets sick. Aurora insists it’s nothing serious, brushes off his concerns even as she’s coughing on the phone. Bellamy knows she’s probably right, it’s just a summer flu that needs to run its course, but it doesn’t stop him from taking the weekend off from work to return to Arkadia and check up on her. 

“Mom?” he calls, opening their front door with his copy of their key. “It’s me,” he adds, as if it wasn’t obvious. 

Aurora comes to the front door from the kitchen wearing a robe and bed head, her eyes and nose pink. “Honey, what are you doing here?” she asks, sounding exasperated. 

“Wow, I’ve missed you too, Mom.”

Aurora just shakes her head at him. “_ Of course _, I’m happy to see you, Bell. But you don’t need to miss work to check up on me. Not to mention I could get you sick.”

“Alright I’ll stay three feet away from you at all times if you promise to rest and let me do the cooking and cleaning.”

“That’s really unnecessary, I’m already feeling a lot better.”

“Mom.”

The tea kettle begins whistling.

“Fine, fine,” Aurora concedes, throwing her hands up and walking back into the kitchen. 

Once his mom goes back to bed with her tea, Bellamy does a quick inventory of the kitchen. There’s leftover Chinese he thinks should be tossed, a stray cucumber, and ketchup. He rolls his eyes at the sad sight. Bellamy worries about his mom living here alone, worries she won’t take care of herself like she should without the excuse of taking care of him and Octavia. 

He sits down at the table to make a grocery list, figuring he’ll stop by the store in the morning since he already brought soup and a few things with him from Sacramento. Once he’s done, he takes a look around the kitchen. He feels like something has changed but can’t find anything noticeably different. Maybe it’s simply the quiet, the emptiness of the house without the girls here. 

They were always just _ around _. Lounging in the living room with the TV on, making a mess of the kitchen while trying to make brownies, hogging the bathroom as they got ready for a football game or party. Even when they were hiding out in Octavia’s room, he could always hear their giggles echoing down the hallway and throughout their small house. There was rarely a moment he went without their spunk and snark, but it made the house feel alive. It feels deflated without them here, less colorful. 

The next morning, Bellamy gets up early to go for a run. After a shower and making his mom a cup of tea, he heads to the grocery store. It’s only about 9am, so he hopes he can beat the crowds. 

Going over his list, Bellamy thinks he has everything and heads towards the registers. At the last minute, he remembers he forgot to grab milk. As a staple, he didn’t think to put it on his list, but those are always the items you end up forgetting. He sighs and heads towards the back of the store. 

Bellamy’s about to walk out of the aisle where they keep the canned vegetables, the coolers against the store’s back wall in front of him. That’s when he sees her. Bellamy stops dead in his tracks, remains in the aisle as he stares at the blonde girl mulling over which milk to get. At first, he thinks he’s officially gone crazy. It’s one thing to miss her, it’s another thing to hallucinate her, to mistake every blonde girl he sees for Clarke Griffin. 

Clarke is still turned around, her back to him as she opens the door and reaches up to grab a carton of almond milk. Something about the way she reaches on her tiptoes is as familiar to him as his own reflection. How many times has he seen her do that, reaching for their peanut butter on the highest shelf in their kitchen, where he continuously put it just to piss her off. _ That’s her. That’s Clarke _. He’s sure of it now. 

He’s contemplating whether to say something to her, whether she would even want to see him or not, when it dawns on him that she shouldn’t even be here. She should have left for Princeton weeks ago. Why the hell is Clarke still in Arkadia? It’s at that exact moment that Clarke turns around. If Bellamy thought he might escape her attention from where he’s standing in the aisle, he’s sorely mistaken. 

Clarke’s blue eyes widen as they lock with his. The milk slips from her grasp and onto the floor, spilling at her feet. It’s enough to break through her shock. Flustered, she bends over to pick up the carton and Bellamy’s halfway to her, wanting to help her cleanup the mess, when he sees it. He notices how awkward Clarke looks as she bends over to pick up the carton. He sees how she places a hand on the small, but prominent bump under her t-shirt. 

Bellamy stops completely, halfway between her and his cart still sitting in the aisle. A moment later, a store employee comes by to mop up the mess. Bellamy watches her give a flustered apology and abandon her basket. He’s still standing there dumbly when she flies out of the store. 

He thinks minutes must have passed by the time someone breaks through his frozen stance. 

“Sir, is that your cart?” 

Bellamy doesn’t know who asks, doesn’t answer them either. He just makes a beeline to the store’s exit and barely makes it outside before he throws up in the trash can next to the doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger but...*shrug emoji*


	11. Will I Be With You or Among the Missing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope everyone is having an awesome night, no matter what that looks like. 
> 
> Sorry for the late publish. I was spending the holidays with family and friends and didn't have time to write. On Sunday I'll be back to the normal publishing schedule for Homesick and ABOY.
> 
> Title is from the song 'What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?"

Bellamy had set his alarm for 8am, wanting to sleep in after their late night. His body seems to have other plans. Once he opens his eyes a little after 7am, he knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep given how restless he was all night. It wasn’t because of the alcohol, though. Unbeknownst to his friends, Bellamy never gets as drunk as everyone else at these parties. 

Maybe it’s overly cautious, but he wants to make sure that he’s fully functional in case Lucie ever needs them, even though logically he knows their parents are watching her. Clarke deserves this one night of the year to let loose, so he wants to give that to her. Although, he suspects that Clarke does the same. Besides last year, Bellamy has never witnessed Clarke more than extremely tipsy since getting pregnant. It feels like an unspoken rule between the two of them. 

Bellamy groans as he rolls onto his side. Maybe he’s not hungover, but he feels tired as hell. Besides the fact he didn’t get more than five hours of sleep, his sleep was uneasy at best. All those  _ Never Have I Ever  _ and  _ Truth or Dare _ questions cycled through his mind on a tortuous loop. At one point he considered texting Bree so he might have some kind of distraction, but asking her to come over after 1am on what’s technically Christmas Eve felt like a particularly dick move, even for them. Instead, he accepted spending another night alone thinking about the woman who he couldn’t have. The last thing he remembers before finally drifting off to sleep is thinking about the feel of Clarke in his arms exactly one year ago.

After ten minutes of staring at his wall, Bellamy forces himself out of bed. He might as well start cleaning up the bar if he’s not going to get any sleep. Quickly making his bed and pulling a hoodie over his head, Bellamy makes his way downstairs. He sighs heavily once he flips on the lights, taking in the mess his friends made. Somehow it looks ten times worse than it did last night. He immediately walks back upstairs to make a pot of coffee before attempting to start cleaning up. 

It’s nearly 10am and Bellamy is in the middle of mopping the floor when he hears a knocking. His head snaps up in surprise until he sees that it’s Cillian standing at the locked front door of his bar. 

_ His keys _ , Bellamy remembers, abandoning his Swiffer and hustling over to the door to let him in.

“Hey, good morning,” Bellamy tells him, opening the door for him.

“Hey, man,” Cillian says as he steps in. “Sorry to interrupt, I’m just picking up my keys.”

“Right, I think Raven put them behind the bar, just a sec.” Bellamy heads over towards the bar as Cillian takes another step in, looking around the room.

“Sure you don’t want any help cleaning?” Cillian asks, taking in the mess that Bellamy is only halfway through dealing with. 

Bellamy shakes his head as he searches the bar for the keys. “Nah, I’ve got it, but thanks.”

“You don’t look too bad,” Cillian comments. “Up earlier than I expected.”

Bellamy shrugs, picking up the keys that have fallen on the ground. “Can’t really be hungover when you have a kid to think of,” Bellamy tells him as he walks back over to him. It comes out a little more pointed than he intended. 

“Right, of course.”

Bellamy hands him the keys. “Just always keep a cup of water in your hand. Those delinquents are usually too drunk to question what you’re drinking as long as you’re drinking something,” Bellamy offers. 

Cillian laughs. “Thanks for the tip. Maybe next year I won’t have Raven’s attention as the new guy.”

_ Next year _ , Bellamy thinks.  _ Next year and every year after _ . He tries to ignore that pit in his gut that forms at the thought of that. 

“Anyways, I’ll see you tonight,” Cillian says, turning to leave.

“See you,” Bellamy says, turning around to retrieve his Swiffer. 

Bellamy looks up when Cillian stops halfway to the door and turns around. 

“Actually, can I ask you something, man to man?” Cillian asks. 

Bellamy fights the urge to roll his eyes. “You can ask me something as a person,” Bellamy tells him, annoyance unintentionally slipping into his voice.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Cillian trails off, before shaking his head. “Were you and Clarke ever...were you guys ever involved? Were you ever together after Lucie?”

Bellamy tenses, both at the question itself and at the fact that Cillian is asking him instead of Clarke. He takes a second to collect himself before he answers, trying not to snap at him as harshly as he instinctually wants to. “I think we both know that’s a question you should be asking your fiance, not me. But for the record, Clarke and I were never more than friends.”

Cillian gives him a strange look, like he’s assessing him. Bellamy doesn’t care for it. 

“Those seem like carefully chosen words,” Cillian comments. 

“You asked me a question, and that’s the truth,” Bellamy replies, voice hard and cool as steel. 

Cillian must sense the shift in Bellamy’s mood and the tension that rose between them. He relaxes his shoulders. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have asked, that was out of line. I’m just hungover and tired. Forget I asked.”

Bellamy shakes his head. He still feels aggravated, but he has to spend the next 24 hours with this guy. Besides, Clarke loves him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright, see you tonight,” Cillian says, walking out the door.

\--∞--

“Are you excited for Santa to come, baby?” Clarke asks, turning around in the passenger seat of Cillian’s car to look at her daughter. 

Lucie is looking out the car window at all the houses adorned with Christmas lights. Despite that it’s only four in the afternoon, the sun is setting fast and most peoples’ houses are already lit up. 

“Of course, Mom!” Lucie answers without looking at Clarke. She presses her nose and hands against the window, eyes wide at the different light displays they pass by. 

Cillian takes Clarke’s hand in his as they drive the rest of the way to her parents’ house. She gives him a soft smile although his eyes remain on the road. Whatever tension existed between them last night, he seems to have forgotten about it. 

Clarke sighs in relief, looking out her window as they drive. Things feel a little different this year, but they’re really not. Their family will be partaking in the same traditions that have existed since the year Lucie was born. Although, that first year is certainly a blur to her. Lucie was only a few weeks old and neither Clarke nor Bellamy was sleeping more than a few hours at a time.

Every Christmas Eve, Aurora, Bellamy, Clarke, and Lucie spend the night at Clarke’s parents’ house. They eat pizza from Grounders and homemade christmas cookies in front of the television while they watch Christmas movies. On Christmas morning, everyone opens gifts and Jake makes coffee and his homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast. They sit down to dinner together on Christmas night and then watch more movies. Aurora usually goes home after dinner but Clarke and Bellamy always stay the night and head home in the morning.

Technically speaking, there won’t be anything different about these Christmas traditions this year, not really. The only real difference is the addition of Cillian and Octavia to their celebrations. That shouldn’t be a problem at all, should only make Clarke even happier. After all, Cillian and Octavia are two of the people she loves most. That’s what she keeps reminding herself when anxiety prickles under her skin. She can’t understand why their presence is making her stressed instead of more happy.

When Cillian pulls into the Griffins’ driveway, Clarke sees that her parents have also already turned all their lights on. It shouldn’t surprise her, given her dad’s enthusiasm for Christmas. He’s probably had them turned on since the minute he woke up.

“Alright, let’s get all the food in the house first and we can make another trip for the presents,” Clarke tells Cillian as he shuts the car off. While Clarke had already dropped off Lucie’s “Santa” presents at her parents house, Cillian’s trunk was still full of family gifts.

“Hey, stop right there,” Clarke scolds Lucie, who’s climbing out of the car before Clarke has even undone her seatbelt. “What did I tell you?”

Lucie just looks back at her with wide eyes.

Clarke sighs. “You bring in your own bag and presents, remember? Like a big girl,” Clarke reminds her.

“Fine,” Lucie sighs dramatically, reaching for her small backpack that Clarke helped her pack. She’s trying to teach her to take more responsibility for her things given how many times her toys and art supplies seem to go missing, or conversely, end up everywhere that they aren’t supposed to be.

Cillian and Clarke walk into her parents’ foyer with dishes of food that Clarke prepared early for Christmas dinner. Lucie trails behind them with her backpack over her shoulders and presents piled in her arms, forming a tower nearly bigger than her. Clarke has to stifle a laugh.

In the living room to the right of the foyer, Clarke can hear the basketball game on the television before she even walks in. The Arkadian Novas play every Christmas Eve afternoon. Clarke walks to the doorway ahead of Cillian and Lucie and finds her dad and Bellamy lounging on opposite sides of the couch and holding beers.

“Oh, come on!” Jake yells at the television.

“I told you,” Bellamy tells him. “I knew he’d screw it up.”

“ _ Merry Christmas _ ,” Clarke says pointedly to the two of them who still haven’t noticed her presence. She feels Cillian walk up behind her as Jake’s and Bellamy’s heads pop up to give them a quick hello before their eyes snap quickly back to the game.

Clarke rolls her eyes at them but can’t help her gaze from drifting back to Bellamy, even though the game has his full attention. He’s wearing a nicer pair of his jeans with a dark red sweater, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. He’s also wearing his glasses, which Clarke hates. Well, she hates them because something about the sight of Bellamy in his glasses makes her stomach flip in a way that irritates her.

“Daddy!” Lucie yells, running up to Bellamy from behind Clarke and Cillian. She jumps into his lap, nearly causing him to spill his beer, but Bellamy manages to hold it up in time. His attention shifts from the game to his daughter as quick as flipping a switch as she settles onto the couch under the crook of his arm.

“Are you ready for Santa to come?” Bellamy asks, poking her side to draw out a giggle.

“Clarke?” Cillian asks from behind her. It’s only then that Clarke realizes she’s still standing in the doorway staring at Bellamy and their daughter. Bellamy looks up at her when Cillian calls to her, but Clarke spins around quickly enough that their eyes only meet for the smallest of moments. Still, she’s sure he probably caught her staring.

“Yeah, babe?”

“We’ve got to get the dishes to the fridge,” Cillian reminds her, nodding at the dishes in her arms that are identical to the ones he’s carrying.

“Yeah, sorry,” she apologizes, following him into the kitchen.

When Cillian and Clarke walk into the kitchen, they find Abby sitting at the island and sipping on a mug of coffee. She looks up at them from behind her laptop and slides her reading glasses on top of her head.

“Hi guys, Merry Christmas,” Abby smiles at them.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Clarke tells her, leaning over to kiss her cheek once the dishes are safely on the counter.

“Merry Christmas, Abby,” Cillian smiles at her. “I’m going to grab the presents from the car,” he adds, turning to Clarke.

“Need help?”

“Nope, I’ve got it,” he assures her, giving her a peck on the cheek before heading out again.

“There’s a fresh pot,” Abby tells Clarke, nodding at their expensive coffee machine on the counter.

“Wonderful, I’m exhausted,” Clarke sighs. She pours herself a mug and sits down next to her mom.

“Too much fun last night?” Abby laughs, closing her laptop and giving Clarke her full attention.

“Well, nothing compared to last year,” Clarke laughs.

Abby rolls her eyes, but not with any real malice. “That Murphy.”

“That Murphy,” Clarke agrees with a chuckle. “We met Wells’s new girlfriend, so that was interesting.”

“Oh, that’s right. How was she?” Abby asks, taking a sip.

“She was actually really nice. Beautiful and classy.”

“Well that’s great. Wells deserves to be with a good person.”

Clarke nods. “It was interesting though…” She hesitates, deciding on whether to say anything. “I’m not sure whether to read too much into it, but I think Raven has a thing for him.”

“Really? Well, I think they might actually be great together.”

“I do too,” Clarke agrees. “It’s just weird that she’s figuring that out now, she’s known him for years.”

Abby hums. “Well, sometimes timing is everything, hon. Things work out in strange ways.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You have that voice like you’re holding back on me, I feel like I’m getting a lot of that from you recently.”

“I’m not holding anything back.”

“Sure,” Clarke retorts with heavy sarcasm. “When are Aurora and Octavia getting here?”

“They should be here within an hour,” Abby tells her, checking her watch.

“There’s enough room for everyone, right?” Clarke asks. “It feels like there’s so many of us this year.”

“There’s only two more people, hon,” Abby laughs. “Octavia is staying in the same guest room as Aurora, Bellamy and Lucie have their rooms, and you have yours for you and Cillian. We don’t even need an extra bed.”

“Right,” Clarke sighs. She’s acting so strange about all of this, and she knows it. “Well I’m going to help Cillian bring our stuff up and make sure Lucie didn’t just leave her backpack on the floor in the foyer,” Clarke says, hopping off the stool and taking her mug with her.

\--∞--

The evening only proves to Clarke that her anxiety is misplaced, although it doesn’t make it go away entirely. Everyone gets along great and Octavia just adds to the fun. Clarke should have known that – that’s who Octavia has always been. It’s just a strange feeling having her back in their lives after so long. At the party, Octavia mentioned how Raven was now Clarke’s best friend. Clarke didn’t disagree with her, but if she’s being honest, it’s Bellamy who really stepped into the role of her best friend. Maybe that’s why this feels so strange. The holiday was just the two of them, their child, and their parents. It somehow feels like Bellamy is further away from her this year.

“Can we just watch one more?” Lucie begs once the credits to  _ Santa Clause is Coming to Town _ begin to roll.

Everyone is sitting in the living room, scattered across the couch, arm chairs, and floor, and surrounded by empty hot chocolate mugs and plates covered in cookie crumbs.

“Santa won’t come if we don’t go to sleep, Luce,” Bellamy reminds her. He stands up from where he was sitting with Lucie on the floor, his back against the couch right in front of where Clarke was sitting.

Clarke tried to focus on Cillian’s hand on her knee rather than Bellamy’s curls throughout the movie, but it was a struggle, to say the least. A shameful struggle. She’s starting to feel guilty about these feelings that keep popping up, but she reminds herself that she can’t help if she’s still physically attracted to Bellamy. It’s not like she  _ likes _ him anymore. There’s nothing unfaithful about physical attraction unless you’re acting on it.

“C’mon, Lucie,” Bellamy commands, holding out his hand to her. “The quicker we go to sleep, the sooner we get to open presents from Santa.”

“Fine,” Lucie sighs, letting Bellamy pull her off the floor with only his one arm.

“C’mere and give me a kiss goodnight,” Jake tells her. Lucie complies and makes her rounds, giving everyone but Cillian a hug and a kiss goodnight. Still, she gives him a quick hug, even if it does look like she’s only practicing her manners. It’ll just take time with those two, that’s all.

“I’ll be right up,” Clarke promises.

After helping her family bring the dishes to the kitchen, she goes up to Lucie’s room to find Bellamy tucking her into bed and sitting down next to her. He’s holding Clarke’s childhood copy of  _ The Night Before Christmas _ .

“Mommy, come listen,” Lucie commands, patting the bed beside.

Clarke climbs onto the bed with Lucie and Bellamy so that Lucie is sandwiched between them.

“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…” Bellamy starts, his voice rich as he starts the tale. Clarke combs her fingers through Lucie’s curls as Bellamy reads through the story, Lucie’s eyes growing heavier with every line.

By the time Bellamy silently closes the book, Lucie is sleeping soundly between the two of them, her mouth agape.

“Why does your voice always put her to sleep like that?” Clarke whispers, smiling at Bellamy over Lucie’s head.

“Magic,” Bellamy smirks.

Clarke knows they should leave now that she’s asleep, but she keeps staring at Bellamy instead.

“I don’t want to leave,” she murmurs, more to herself than Bellamy, as she rests her head down on Lucie’s pillow.

“Then let’s not,” Bellamy whispers. Clarke drags her eyes back to his, expecting to see the joke on his face, but he looks somber instead.

“Santa won’t deliver presents if we stay here,” Clarke whispers back.

Bellamy sighs, but nods. They both climb off Lucie’s bed and tuck her in tighter before tip toeing out of her room.

\--∞--

By the time they set out all the presents and Clarke makes her way back to her room, it’s nearly 10pm. She finds Cillian in bed, but awake on his phone.

“I love Christmas,” Clarke gushes as she changes into a t-shirt and leggings.

“I think this might have been the best Christmas Eve I’ve had,” Cillian says, looking up to smile at her.

“Really? The very best?” Clarke asks as she climbs into bed next to him. “That’s a pretty impressive compliment, even for the Griffins,” she laughs.

Cillian turns onto his side to look at Clarke. “I’m serious though. My family was never very into Christmas. We’d maybe have a nice dinner and exchange a few gifts, but nothing like this. Nothing so…festive,” he laughs.

“That’s so sad,” Clarke frowns at him.

“No, it was okay. But it just made me even happier to be here,” he assures her, threading his fingers through her own. “I’m glad that our kids will have this kind of Christmas experience instead of the one I had growing up.”

“Our kids?” Clarke repeats dumbly, before she can stop herself.

“Well yeah,” Cillian laughs. “I mean, someday of course. You always said you wanted more kids, right?”

“Right, of course,” she assures him, forcing herself to smile and hoping it comes off as genuine.

Anxiety washes over her at the thought of her and Cillian’s kids. She’s always wanted more children, never intended for Lucie to be an only child. So why does the thought of having children with Cillian sound so…wrong? She tries to conjure up her and Cillian’s future child in her mind, but somehow freckles and dark curls invade her thoughts from out of nowhere.

“You know what, I’m going to take a quick shower,” Clarke tells him, climbing out of bed.

“Didn’t you take one this afternoon?” Cillian asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, I just feel gross, I don’t know,” she says, grabbing her old robe off the hook on her bedroom door.

“Alright,” Cillian laughs. “Hit the lights on your way out, babe.”

A few minutes later, Clarke stands under scalding water as she tries to make sense of her mind. The only reason she’s in the shower is because it’s the only place she knows she can be completely alone in this overcrowded house that feels like it’s suffocating her tonight. She’s being ridiculous.

Why doesn’t the idea of Cillian and her children fill her with any joy? Should she be concerned? Maybe she really doesn’t want more kids, not at all. Maybe she only thought she did. She runs her fingers through her hair, tugging at it and trying not to scream.

\--∞--

Once Clarke tousles her hair dry and puts on her robe, she pads back down the dark hallway towards her bedroom. Opening the door a crack, she can hear Cillian snoring lightly, sound asleep. She knows she should go to bed, but her shower simultaneously woke her up and made her crave more time alone. She shuts the door again and heads downstairs.

The house is completely quiet, everyone having already gone to bed. Clarke smiles when she walks into the living room. The tree is still lit, gifts from Santa piled underneath it, and the fire is still crackling lowly. She climbs onto the couch and pulls the throw blanket that always hangs over its back onto her lap before turning on the television, hoping it might lull her to sleep. Instead, she sees that  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ has only just started and she knows she probably won’t be going to sleep anytime soon. It’s her favorite Christmas movie, but she doesn’t think she’s seen it in years since she’s usually watching more children-oriented christmas movies with Lucie. She snuggles up with the blanket and lays down, smiling at George Bailey.

Only ten minutes into the movie, she hears footsteps coming down the stairs. She prays it isn’t Lucie checking on the status of Santa’s gifts and even more so that it isn’t Cillian who’s coming looking for her. She just wants to watch this alone.

For some reason, she’s surprised to see Bellamy enter the living room, hair sticking every which way and squinting at her behind his glasses. It’s a pleasant surprise, so maybe she didn’t really want to be alone as much as she originally thought. Clarke takes in his black gym shorts and old gray Arkadia High t-shirt as he runs a hand through his tangled hair.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice groggy.

Clarke shakes her head.

“Me too,” he admits. “Don’t know why. I came down for some water, want some?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, turning her attention back to the movie as Bellamy heads towards the kitchen. He comes back a moment later with two waters and sets them both on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Up,” he commands, tapping her feet.

Clarke lifts them and watches Bellamy as he sits on the other side of the couch, pulling her legs back onto his lap. She feels a little odd about it when she remembers that she never changed out of her robe. She realizes it rather quickly when she feels her bare legs on the warm skin of his thighs under the blanket. Bellamy doesn’t say anything about it, only rests his hands on top of the blanket, so Clarke turns her attention back towards the television.

Clarke smiles widely at the scene where George walks Mary home from the dance.

_ “What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.” _

_ “I'll take it. Then what?” _

_ Well, then you can swallow it, and it'll all dissolve, see... and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair... am I talking too much? _

“I love this scene, it’s my favorite,” Clarke murmurs quietly, letting out a little laugh at George. 

“Well, well, well,” Bellamy teases, absentmindedly running his hand across her leg over the blanket. She’s not sure he even realizes he’s doing it and she tries not to think about how desperately she wants to feel his hand on her without the fabric between them. “If Clarke Griffin isn’t expressing her love for a cheesy romantic movie scene. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I don’t hate all romance,” Clarke insists.

“I remember a certain teenager watching  _ 10 Things I Hate About You  _ and insisting that she didn’t want any romantic grand gestures and that she was above them.”

Clarke turns to look at Bellamy, but his eyes are on the television screen.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

Bellamy turns to face her. “Of course I do, Clarke. I remember everything about us.”

Clarke feels like her heart might bounce out of her rib cage at his words. She quickly turns to face the television again, her cheeks hot.

“It’s not a grand gesture anyways,” she argues. “He’s just-”

“Promising a girl the moon isn’t a grand gesture?” Bellamy laughs lightly.

“And, besides, I said all that that before,” Clarke retorts, growing flustered at the whole conversation.

“Before what?”

_ Before I fell in love with you _ , Clarke thinks.  _ Before I realized I wanted all those cheesy, stupid things with you _ .

She reminds herself that those are old feelings, ones she doesn’t have anymore. Maybe there’s attraction, but she’s not in love with him anymore.

“Before Cillian?” Bellamy asks. It’s only then that Clarke realizes she didn’t answer him.

“Right, before Cillian,” she confirms.

They watch thirty more minutes in silence before Clarke begins to grow too warm. Bellamy always run hot.

“Hey, can you take the blanket off?” she asks him. “I’m too warm.”

“Sure,” he says, pulling it off them and tossing it onto the back of the couch. This time he seems to hesitate before placing his hands on her legs, but he does it anyways. She has to stop herself from sighing in relief when he does.

The last thing that Clarke remembers is Clarence saving George Bailey from the river. When she opens her eyes again, the movie credits are rolling and she feels something heavy draped over her.

She turns to find that Bellamy’s face just inches from her own. He’s also fallen asleep and has managed to fall on his side between the couch and herself. But what’s worse is that she’s still only wearing her robe. The tie has loosened enough that her chest is nearly exposed and the robe has ridden up so that it barely covers her. Her breath catches when she realizes Bellamy’s top arm is draped over her upper leg, his hand resting dangerously high on her inner thigh. Dangerously close to her center that now feels like its aching for his hand to move just a few inches higher.

_ What if someone had found them like this _ ? she thinks, beginning to panic.  _ What if Cillian had found them like this? _

She knows that unintentional or not, she’s crossed a line tonight.

“Bell, wake up,” she whispers, quickly standing and wrapping her robe tighter before he can take note of the compromising position that she found them in. “We fell asleep, it’s after one. Let’s get to bed.”

Bellamy takes his glasses off to rub his eyes and yawns. “Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Clarke nods. “Goodnight, Bell. Merry Christmas,” she whispers before running back up the stairs. 

She sneaks back into her room as quietly as possible and is welcomed by the sounds of Cillian still lightly snoring. After changing back into her t-shirt and leggings, she’s climbs into bed beside Cillian but turns on her side so that she’s facing the opposite wall. Eventually, she falls into an uneasy sleep.

\--∞--

Bellamy wakes up the next morning to the sound of his daughter yelling before the sun has fully risen.

“Santa came, Santa came!” 

Bellamy can tell she’s running up and down the hallway by the way her voice wavers, starting out loud before momentarily fading.

Bellamy groans as he climbs out of bed, pulling on his glasses. It took him another hour to fall asleep last night after Clarke woke him up and he made his way back to his bed. He can’t remember falling asleep during the movie but he isn’t surprised that he did. Being close to Clarke always makes him feel at ease in a way that he never is when he’s alone or with anyone else. The next thing he remembered was Clarke hovering over him with the glow of the Christmas tree and fire embers behind her. There was a brief moment before he fully woke that he thought he was dreaming. He believed he was being visited by a Christmas angel. Clarke looked so effortlessly beautiful, like she belonged on top of a tree.

Bellamy opens his door just as his daughter runs past him towards Clarke’s parents’ room. Clarke is already watching the scene from her own doorway across the hall from Bellamy’s. Just as Bellamy catches her eye, Cillian appears behind her, wrapping an arm around her and kissing the side of her head. Bellamy averts his eyes, feeling like he’s spying on a private moment.

“Santa came!” Lucie yells, barreling back down the hallway towards them. Bellamy steps in front of her just in time to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder.

“And he’s going to come back and take all the presents back if you don’t quiet down,” he chides, but not without a smile.

“I’ll take her down and give everyone a chance to wake up,” he tells Clarke and Cillian, Lucie still thrown over his shoulder. 

The morning passes in a blur, as it always does. Everyone sips on coffee and takes turn opening presents, mostly from Santa to Lucie. Still, they all exchange presents with each other too. Clarke and him decided long ago not to exchange Christmas gifts with each other. It was just easier that way and they could focus solely on Lucie. He also suspects she struggled as much as he did finding an appropriate gift for your best friend,  _ not _ lover, and coparent. Dealing with that on birthdays was quite enough. Still, Bellamy can’t help but feel jealous at the way Cillian’s gift to her, a beautiful necklace with a topaz drop that matches her eyes perfectly, makes Clarke smile.

“Daddy, this is my present for you,” Lucie says, bringing him a haphazardly wrapped, small box. “Mom showed me how to wrap it myself this year.”

“She picked it out all on her own,” Clarke smiles at him from where she’s sitting with Cillian in one of the armchairs.

Bellamy unwraps the box with a wide smile he can’t help but wear and glances to his left on the couch to see that Octavia is wearing a matching one. He pulls out a coffee mug with a space ship flying amongst the stars. In bright yellow letters, it says ‘Best Dad in the Universe’ on it. 

“Lucie, this is the best present I’ve gotten all day,” he tells her, pulling her in for a hug and kissing the top of her head.

“Really?” she asks.

“Of course,” he insists. “I’m going to use it everyday. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“It’s space like the stars we look at with the telescope,” she explains, pointing at the mug. Bellamy smiles even bigger as she explains her reasoning. It reminds him of Clarke, how thoughtful Lucie is. 

Once everyone is finished, they eat Jake’s homemade cinnamon rolls that he prepared the night before and baked while they were opening gifts. Everyone lounges around for the rest of the day, watching more Christmas movies and taking turns showering. By late afternoon, everyone switches from coffee to wine and starts preparing dinner. They serve a potluck style dinner, not unlike their delinquent party but with more traditional dishes. 

Bellamy, Octavia, and Aurora sit on one side of the table, while Cillian, Clarke, and Lucie sit on the other, with Lucie across from Bellamy and Clarke between the two of them. Jake and Abby sit at the heads of the table.

“Do you want mashed potatoes?” Clarke asks Lucie, making up a plate for her.

Lucie makes a face of disgust. “Potatoes are gross.” 

“French fries are potatoes,” Clarke argues, but she skips the mashes ones for Lucie.

Everyone chats easily as they dig into the food.

“So Clarke, I made use of Lincoln’s number,” Octavia tells her. She’s wearing a mischievous grin that reminds Bellamy of her youth.

“That’s awesome, O,” Clarke replies with her own smile. “Have you seen him yet?”

“The very next day,” Octavia says cheekily, taking a bite out of her roll. “We grabbed lunch and he actually brought me by the community center. It was amazing meeting some of the kids he works with.”

“It’s incredible,” Clarke agrees.

“What kids?” Lucie asks with a mouthful of food.

“The kids that Luna works with, that drew the Christmas pictures like you did,” Clarke answers.

“I’m considering volunteering there. It’ll be something to fill my time while I’m deciding on my next steps,” Octavia continues.

“That’s awesome, O,” Bellamy agrees.

“Doesn’t hurt I’d get to look at Lincoln while I’m there,” Octavia says, smirking. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I see you have the purest of intentions.”

“Loosen up, big brother,” Octavia chides, elbowing him gently. 

“I think it sounds like a great idea,” Aurora agrees.

“Speaking of dates, don’t you have one with Roma coming up?” Octavia asks. 

Bellamy looks up to glare at her, but she’s studiously sipping her glass of wine. He can see right through her when it comes to her intentions though.

“Yeah, coming up,” he agrees, not offering any other details.

Bellamy spares a glance at Clarke over his wine glass but she’s meticulously working on her cranberry sauce.

“Is that right? Who’s Roma?” Jake asks from beside him.

_ Great _ , Bellamy thinks.

“Bellamy went to high school with her,” Octavia answers for him. “Bellamy and her dated on and off, she’s been around forever.”

“Not  _ forever _ ,” Bellamy argues.

“Well, you two were dating the night we met,” Clarke says, joining the conversation.

“Maybe,” Bellamy says, trying to do the math on the years. They spent a lot of time on and off. Maybe this date isn’t a great idea. But then again, they’ve both had some time to grow up.

“Yeah, you definitely were,” Clarke argues. “Miller wanted you to ditch us to go to a party, and was trying to convince you by saying  _ Roma _ was there, remember?”

Bellamy looks up at her in surprise, but Octavia speaks before he can. “Damn, Clarke. How do you remember that?”

Clarke focuses on her plate again. “It’s just an unusual name, that’s all. It’s not a big deal,” Clarke scoffs. 

“When are you two going out?” Aurora asks when no one says anything. 

“Um, we’re going to touch base after the holidays. She’s out of town until then, so sometime in January.”

“I like Owen, he’s nice” Lucie says, as if making a formal judgement of him. Everyone laughs and Bellamy feels like some of the tension is relieved, even though he was probably the only one feeling any tension at all. The conversation moves along after that, but neither him nor Clarke have a lot to say for the rest of dinner.

\--∞-- 

Bellamy buttons up his shirt in front of the floor length mirror in his room. It feels strange to be spending New Year’s Eve like this - and by this, he means not with Clarke and Lucie on the couch. The last time he had a night out for New Year’s was the same night he got into a bar fight with Murphy and picked up a drunk, heartbroken Clarke from a party. It’s strange how much things change.

Bellamy bounces down stairs to find Murphy and Emori already there. Even though they aren’t working, they offered to come set up with him. True to her promise, Emori is wearing a tight royal blue body con dress with her hair down in loose waves. Murphy can’t seem to stop staring at her as they place bottles of liquor on the bar and Bellamy wonders if they’ll even make it to midnight. He should probably lock his apartment.

It isn’t long before everyone arrives and the drinks start flowing. He can admit it’s pretty fun seeing all of his friends dressed up, even if it is torture to see the way Clarke fills her own dress, all the while knowing that he can’t rip it off of her later. When she walks in with Cillian and takes off her jacket, it literally feels like the wind is knocked out of him. She’s wearing a stunning navy dress with a deep v cut that highlights her breasts in a way that makes his mouth dry.

“You okay?” Miller asks, slapping a hand over his shoulder from beside him behind the bar. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Bellamy shakes his head and knocks back both shots that he poured for Miller and Jackson. “I’m more than okay, I’m  _ great _ ,” he insists, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. It’s a good thing that he’s far from a light weight, those two shots probably weren’t his brightest idea.

\--∞--

It’s nearly half past eleven when Bellamy wanders back behind the bar to grab another beer. 

“Hey, bartender,” Clarke says cheekily, clearly tipsy. He spins around to find her leaning over the bar. She’s either torturing him or an amazingly unaware woman. “How about an old fashioned? Only the highest shelf whiskey, please,” she tells him in a mock sultry voice.

“Hey,” he laughs. She picks up the bottle of jack placed on the counter instead. She’s most likely making herself a whiskey ginger, her go-to mixed drink.

“Happy New Year,” she says, still smiling. “So, should we be relieved or insulted that Lucie was all too excited to spend the night with my parents instead of us?”

“Probably both,” he laughs, pulling down the most expensive whiskey he keeps in the bar. “Give me that,” he commands, nodding at her solo cup.

“Why?” she asks, handing it over anyways. Bellamy takes a sip of it himself before pulling out an old fashioned glass and bitters. 

“Bellamy, I was kidding,” Clarke chides, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need you to make me an old fashioned.”

“Cherry?” he offers her, popping one into his own mouth. 

Clarke tries her best to glare at him as she bites down a smile, staring at the cherry Bellamy is still holding by its stem.

“Fine,” she sighs, swiping it from him and biting it off the stem. Bellamy hands her the old fashioned a minute later and Clarke takes her first sip.

“God, that’s good,” she sighs blissfully. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Princess.”

The nickname makes her pause, glass to her lips. He hasn’t used that in a long time, hasn’t called her that in years and years, but it involuntarily slipped off his tongue like it was nothing. He blames the back-to-back shots for that. The last time he called her that, was the night-

“Babe, come dance with me,” Cillian says, coming up behind her and pulling her hand. Clarke sets the drink back down on the bar and barely gets out a thank you before he whisks her away.

Bellamy sighs, picking up the nearly untouched old fashioned for himself. It’s barely to his lips when someone grabs it from him. He turns to find Murphy standing beside him behind the bar.

“Damn, that’s good, Blake,” he comments once he takes a sip. “If I had known you make these for the girls you’re in love with, I would have thrown my hat in the ring years ago.”

“Funny,” he mutters, not in the mood to even joke about it tonight.

Murphy seems to catch on to his sour mood, if his silence is anything to go by. 

Bellamy looks across the room where all of his friends are dancing together, save Murphy and him. No one but Emori can get Murphy to dance, and that’s after many more drinks than he’s had. 

Even Lincoln and Luna are here tonight and he’s sure that Octavia has something to do with that, given the way he hasn’t taken her eyes off her since he arrived. Lincoln’s a strange guy, one Bellamy can’t get a read on. Physically, he’s incredibly intimidating and Bellamy knows he has a dicey past that should make Bellamy more than hesitant about him dating his baby sister. But then he sees the soft look in his eyes when he watches Octavia and hears all the things that Clarke tells him about his art and work at the community center, and figures he must be a pretty good guy. Clarke always has a way of making him see the good in people when he can’t. 

Another guest he didn’t expect is Raven’s Miles, who currently has his arms wrapped around her on the dance floor. He doesn’t miss the way Wells is looking at her over Sasha’s shoulder, but Bellamy can’t read his expression. 

Of course, his attention ultimately drifts to Clarke. He smiles as he watches her, taking a sip of the whiskey ginger that she made. Even though it’s Cillian spinning her around on the dance floor, it’s impossible for him not to feel happy for her. She’s wearing a gleeful, almost childish, smile as she spins into him, nearly losing her balance.

“Try not to drool,” Murphy comments, taking another sip from the old fashioned. 

“I’m not drooling,” Bellamy scoffs, quickly looking away.

“Blake, you’re so damn frustrating. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?” Murphy asks, exasperated. Bellamy is shocked at his bold words. Besides Raven, no one has ever tried to talk to him about his feelings for Clarke. Moreover, he’d never confirm them to anyone. 

“I’m not-”

“I’m not as stupid as I look,” Murphy cuts him off. “I mean it, what is the problem?”

Bellamy gives him a bewildered look. “Besides the obvious fact that she’s engaged and doesn’t feel the same way, and that opening that can of worms could ruin our friendship and affect our daughter?” 

“Yeah, besides all that,” Murphy confirms, ignoring his sarcasm. 

Bellamy takes a gulp of the whiskey ginger. “Besides all that, Clarke deserves the world. I’ve already taken so much from her. She deserves so much more than me.”

It feels strange to say those pathetic words out loud, no matter how many years they’ve run through his mind. He’s not even sure why he just admitted that. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe he’s finally reached a limit on how much of these feelings he can bury. 

“God, you’re such an idiot. Love isn’t about deserving. What the hell did I do to deserve Emori?” he asks, looking at where Emori is spinning around with Jackson and Monty. “The only thing deservings got to do with it is knowing that the other person deserves to be happy and loving them enough to be sure that you’re the one who will try their absolute best to make that happen.”

“Damn, Murphy,” Bellamy chuckles. “I’ve never heard you talk like that.”

“Yeah, well. Look at the girl,” Murphy mutters, gesturing to Emori. “How am I not supposed to talk that way when I’ve got her? Still, if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll punch you in the face.”

“Maybe we can make you punching me in the face our own New Year’s tradition,” Bellamy laughs.

“Not to mention, I don’t think Clarke would agree you’ve taken anything from her,” Murphy continues, ignoring his joke. “To everyone else it looks like you’ve given her something. Since that  _ something _ is your daughter who this entire room loves, you sound like an idiot. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your head out of your ass.”

“Guys, it’s 11:59,” Maya yells before Bellamy can respond. She turns on the TV to the New York City ball drop.

“That’s my cue,” Murphy says, downing the rest of the old fashioned and hopping over the bar. He slides up to Emori and pulls her close against his chest. 

Bellamy goes to join his friends on the dance floor as everyone begins to count down. 

“Five,” the room chants, as Bellamy eyes find Clarke’s across the room. 

“Four,” Bellamy chants, joining the room just as Clarke catches his eye. She gives him a knowing smile.

“Three,” the room chants, but they look at each other as they say it, both of their smiles growing wider.

“Two,” they say to each other, because for him, it feels like it’s just the two of them again. Even as the room roars around them.

“One,” they both whisper. Even though she’s far from him, he can tell she whispered it by the soft shape of her lips when she says it.

“Happy New Year’s!” everyone cheers. Bellamy doesn’t get to consider Clarke’s lips for even a moment more before Cillian is dipping her dramatically and passionately pressing his own to hers. Their lips remain together long after everyone else’s as Cillian pulls her back up. Her hand wearing his diamond runs through his hair. 

Bellamy is vaguely aware of everyone exchanging hugs, of people clapping his back, but he suddenly feels like he’s going to be sick. The room is too hot and loud and he’d rather be anywhere else. He walks briskly to the door leading to the alley, hoping that no one noticed him in the chaos. 

Bellamy takes deep breaths of the cold air, feeling the chill of the bricks through his shirt as he leans against the building. Well, at least he doesn’t feel nauseous anymore, although the air doesn’t do much for his bleeding heart. How did he let this happen? How is he going to live like this? It’s a shamefully dramatic thought and he knows that he can and will keep living like this. He knows that in the grand scheme, he has his great friends, Octavia and his mother, and most of all, Lucie. But tonight, his world feels incredibly small and all he can think about is that he doesn’t have Clarke.

_ So this is how my year is starting _ , Bellamy thinks.  _ Alone in an alley. Sounds about right. _

About five minutes later, Bellamy is looking up at the clear sky, trying to discern if he can see Orion at this angle, when he hears the door open and shut.

“Not now, Raven,” he says, eyes still on the sky. “I’ll be right in.”

“Not Raven,” Clarke says. He looks at her in surprise to find her leaning against the wall near the door, as if she’s hesitant to step closer. She’s hugging herself, clearly freezing in just her dress.

“Oh,” he says, swallowing hard. He doesn’t really have an explanation for Clarke as to why he expected Raven. “I was just getting some air.”

“I see that,” Clarke nods. She looks up at the sky to where he was gazing a moment ago. “Orion right?” she asks, pointing.

“Right,” he confirms. 

There’s an awkward beat of silence between them, but he hasn’t the slightest idea what to say to make it go away.

Clarke clears her throat after a few minutes. “You know, it’s hard for me too.”

“What is?”

“Sharing a holiday with someone else. It’s just been us for a long time.” Clarke fidgets after she says it, like it was hard to say out loud. 

“Well, I’m fine,” he snaps, feeling irrationally angry with her for reading him so easily. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he adds, voice cold and dismissive. 

When he glances back at her, she looks like he physically struck her. For a moment, he thinks she might cry. Instead, she furrows her brow in the way she always does when she’s angry. He knows that face well, he just hasn’t seen it in a long time. Not directed solely at him anyways. Not since after Lucie was born.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to your air then,” she snaps. “Try not to choke on it.”

She spins around and walks back inside before he can even really process what she said. Yet he still feels just as angry and has to stop himself from punching a wall, only because he doesn’t want to have to explain why he did it to everyone in there. Just like he didn’t want to explain why he ran into an alley the moment Clarke and Cillian kissed. He doesn’t want to talk about any of this, least of all with her. She caught him in the act and in this moment alone, he hates her for it.


	12. In All Your Blame, Let It Bury You Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the conversations and confrontations we've been craving folks. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter title is from the song 'Carry You' by Novo Amor.

**~ 6 1/2 Years Ago**

Clarke does her best to keep her tears at bay as she quickly weaves through the parking lot towards her car. Inhaling a shuddery breath, she bites down on her bottom lip hard enough that she draws blood. When she’s finally in her car, the sob breaks loose violently. She feels like she can barely breathe.

She had abandoned her basket of groceries without so much as a word to the father of her kid, even as he stared right at her, hard realization in his eyes. She’s a coward, but that isn’t news to her. If she wasn’t, she would have called him weeks ago. She would have told her parents by now. Instead, she’s nearly 5 months pregnant and was never any closer to telling anyone about Bellamy. In this moment, it’s clear as day to her just how much of a coward she truly is. Still, the realization doesn’t make her feel brave. It doesn’t change anything.

Clarke collects herself as quickly as she can, if only because she has to get out of the parking lot before she sees him again. She’s not ready for him, for this, for...she’s just not ready. Pulling out onto the main road, she stares ahead numbly, the shock on Bellamy’s face a scar on her mind. Maybe he’s still standing right where she left him, dumbfounded and betrayed in the middle of the damn grocery store. He certainly didn’t chase after her, that much is clear. It’s not like it would have been hard for him to catch her. She doesn’t move very fast these days. 

Maybe Bellamy is still standing there because he’s doing the math in his head, over and over again, searching for some way that it doesn’t add up so perfectly. Well, too bad. He won’t find that. 

Clarke takes a deep breath and counts to five like her mom taught her to do when she becomes overwhelmed. When she exhales, she feels a little better. A miniscule amount better, but a little better all the same.

When she comes to a stop at a red light, her hand absentmindedly moves to rest on her bump. It’s become a strange comfort to her lately. Ever since she decided she wanted to keep the baby a few weeks ago, she’s let herself grow excited instead of just scared. It’s a reminder that all of it will be worth it soon enough. All of it will be worth it when she gets to meet her baby. 

The thing is, Clarke _ knows _ she needed to tell Bellamy. She planned to, had every intention to, and knows that not only is it the right thing to do, but it’s also the only way to keep Octavia in her life. She feels sick about the fact she’s been lying to her best friend for months. Aside from her parents and Raven, she’s still lying to _ everyone _, and it’s catching up with her more each day.

But knowing this hasn’t made her anymore brave. How many times has she dialed Bellamy’s number, only to never press send? How many times has she gotten in her car with the intention of driving to Sacramento, only to end up buying Ben & Jerry’s and wallowing in her room instead? The fear at the thought of talking to him feels white hot, it makes the blood drain from her face, her hands shake. She chickens out every damn time. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe it was the universe’s way of forcing her hand because she didn’t have the strength to do it herself. 

Only when Clarke walks into her house does she realize she brought not groceries home with her. She had volunteered to pick up a few items for her parents, eager to do anything that felt productive. 

“Clarke?” Abby asks, walking into the foyer upon hearing the door open. She gives Clarke a confused look when she notes that she’s empty-handed.

“Sorry, I didn’t feel well, so I came home,” Clarke explains, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t feel well where? Do we need to call the doctor?” Abby questions, clearly concerned. 

Clarke shakes her head, climbing the stairs to her room before her mother can question her further. “No, I’m just tired, Mom. I’m going to lay down.” 

Clarke doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues onwards to her bedroom. She collapses onto her bed, laying on her side with her hands under her head as she stares out her window. Her bump is big enough now that it’s been hard to find a comfortable sleeping position, especially since she’s always been one to sleep on her stomach. 

“I’m sorry your mom is such a coward,” she whispers, running her hand over the bump. “I’ll try to do better. I _ promise _ I’ll do better.”

\--∞--

Bellamy clutches the sides of the trash can, too spent to think about how disgusting it is. He takes a deep breath before he lets it go and stands up straight, only to be met by the judgemental eyes of the other shoppers. They probably think he’s a drug addict or hungover, but that’s the last thing he cares about as he makes his way to his car.

His thoughts stutter, play out on a loop on a scratched and spent tape. _ Clarke. Clarke’s pregnant. With my...Clarke is pregnant. I’m going to be a dad. I think. Clarke is…. _

As he climbs into his car and stares out the windshield, the other thoughts hit him. These ones hurt more.

_ Clarke didn’t tell me. Clarke didn’t want me to know, doesn’t want me around...doesn’t want me to be the father. _

Bellamy takes deep gulping breaths and clutches the steering wheel. Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe it isn’t his, and she was just shocked to see him or embarrassed. He won’t pretend to know anything about Clarke’s sex life, maybe he’s not the only contender. At the end of the day, there’s only one person who can give him any answers. 

Bellamy pulls his phone out and dials her number, biting down on his lip as it rings and rings and rings. By the third try with no answer, he chucks his phone on the floor of his car in a bout of frustration, throwing his head back against the headrest of the seat. 

_ Fucking Clarke Griffin. She drives him nuts. It can’t ever be easy with her can it? _

Bellamy’s not sure how much longer he sits in the parking lot, but eventually he throws the car in drive and tries his best to push through his fear as he makes his way to the Griffin house. Driving into her development in the beat up red corolla, he tries not to let his own insecurities overwhelm him. This isn’t the first time he’s been here, having dropped off Clarke countless times over the years. This is the first time he has to walk up to the door though. 

The Griffin house is..._ grand _ . There isn’t really a better word for it. It’s beautiful, elegant, and most importantly, nothing like his house. It could swallow two of his easily. Octavia’s words float through his mind. _ She’s not like us. She’s not one of us, Bell _. How right she was.

Bellamy knocks, trying his best to make it a normal, steady knock, and not one that mimics his panic and desperation. He really has no idea what he’s walking into here, what her parents know. But he supposes that’s the whole point of him showing up on her doorstep. He needs answers for all the countless things he doesn’t know. He needs answers _ now _. 

The clearly puzzled expression on Abby’s face when she opens the door answers one question. Her parents don’t know anything about them. 

“Bellamy?” she questions, as if she isn’t even sure she remembered his name correctly. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s interacted with Clarke’s parents, despite how often Clarke spent time with his family. “Is everything alright with Octavia?”

_ Of course she would ask about Octavia. That’s the only connection he should have to Clarke. _

“Um, yeah. She’s fine, Octavia is fine.” Bellamy runs a shaky hand through his curls. “I’m actually here to see, to uh...to talk to Clarke.” He swallows hard, feeling a little like he could throw up again if there was anything left in his system. “Is she around?”

Bellamy can see the precise moment that realization washes over Abby. The confusion disappears and her face hardens, eyes narrowing. Bellamy fights the urge to run back to his car. If he’s being honest, the Griffins scare the shit out of him. Not unlike their daughter at times. 

After an uncomfortably long moment, Abby surprises him by opening the door wider. “Well, I think you’d better come in then.”

Clarke must have heard him knocking because when Bellamy steps into the foyer, she’s already halfway down the stairs. The foyer is extravagant, a large staircase wrapping around it with a high ceiling holding not quite a chandelier, but a light Bellamy thinks is probably worth more than anything he owns. He stupidly feels underdressed, even though it’s their home and Clarke is wearing leggings and an old Arkadia High t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy braid. 

“Bellamy.” It sounds like a question, rather than a greeting. It’s as if she’s surprised he’s here, which makes his skin prickle with anger. Maybe she didn’t think he would have the guts to just show up unannounced, but if she’s going to avoid him, this is how it has to be. 

Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to respond before her dad walks into the foyer. 

“Hey Abs, who’s at the…” he starts, trailing off when his eyes land on Bellamy. “Bellamy Blake?” he questions, giving him a smile. Similarly to Abby, it seems like it took him a moment to place him. 

“Dad,” Clarke starts. Jake turns to look at his daughter, who’s still standing on the stairs. Maybe the tension in the room finally hits him or maybe it’s the way Clarke subconsciously places a hand over the bump stretching out her t-shirt. Whatever triggers it, the same realization seems to hit Jake like a bullet to the head. 

His head whips around to face Bellamy. “You? You did...it’s you?” he stutters. Even stuttering, he manages to sound threatening. 

“Sir,” Bellamy starts, but Jake doesn’t give him a chance to continue. 

“You piece of shit, you did this?” Jake yells at him, his eyes wide and angry. 

“Jake,” Abby interjects. It sounds like both a warning and an attempt to calm him. 

Bellamy sees Clarke coming down the rest of the stairs in his periphery but doesn’t look away from Jake. He walks up to Bellamy in a few long strides and slams him against the door, shirt fisted in his hand. 

Both Abby and Clarke are now yelling at Jake, but Jake ignores them. Bellamy himself makes no attempt to move, to escape Jake’s hold. Honestly, he deserves this. Let him punch him, it’s the least he can offer. It might even make Bellamy feel better in a twisted way.

“For _ years _ , I trusted you with my daughter. I trusted her alone at your house. I knew your mom wasn’t around and I thought _ you _ were protecting her. I thought you were a good man, and this is the shit going on? She’s just a kid, and you were…” Jake searches Bellamy’s face for something, but Bellamy doesn’t know what he’s looking for. “I can’t even look at you,” he finishes, finally letting go of Bellamy’s shirt as Abby pulls him away. “You disgust me,” he spits as he backs away. “The only reason you’re still standing is because I love my daughter.” Then he storms off, back into the house without another word. 

Bellamy wipes a hand down his face, squeezing his eyes. The guilt feels like a tidal wave threatening to drown him, leaving nothing in its wake. 

“Well, clearly you two have a lot to talk about,” Abby prompts, voice sharp. 

Bellamy doesn’t miss the way that sharpness seems to extend to Clarke. He guesses she isn’t happy that Clarke kept this from them. 

“Why don’t you guys go to the front room and I’ll bring in some tea.” It’s a command more than a suggestion, her icy gaze sweeping over him once more before leaving the room. 

In an instance, he’s left alone with Clarke feeling like someone dropped the two of them in the wreckage of a battlefield. He finally looks up at her, standing at the bottom of the staircase and clutching the bannister. She looks on the verge of tears. He knows the feeling. 

“Hi,” he tries, voice sounding more choked than he intended. 

“Hi,” she murmurs. 

They stand there for another awkward beat before Clarke pushes off the bannister and heads down a hallway on the left, nodding at Bellamy to follow her. 

Bellamy walks into what he thinks wealthy people refer to as a sitting room. It’s the kind of room only rich people seem to have, that extra living room with no visible means of entertainment, filled with furniture that looks too uncomfortable to actually relax on. He guesses awkward conversations with the girl you knocked up are certainly one way to make use of them, although he guesses that’s not exactly what they’re intended for. 

Bellamy can at least admit the room is beautiful, with its large windows lining the wall, exposing their perfectly manicured front yard. Clarke sits in an armchair with her legs folded under her. Bellamy silently takes a seat on the end of the couch closest to her, legs wide and elbows resting on his thighs as he holds his head in his hands. He takes a deep breath to collect himself before looking up at her. 

Clarke’s hand rests on her bump again, which seems to be a new little habit of hers that he knows nothing about.

“I guess I don’t have to ask,” Bellamy mutters, when he realizes Clarke isn’t going to say anything. She furrows her brow at him. “If it’s mine,” he clarifies.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, you’re the...it’s yours,” she confirms. 

Bellamy’s eyes sweep over her, taking in her old t-shirt that would usually be too big for her but isn't big enough to hide her bump. She fidgets with a thread on its hem. 

“Are you keeping it?” he asks. Bellamy knows immediately it was the wrong question to ask by the way her face drops. Still, he doesn’t think that’s an unreasonable question. He has no idea what’s gone through her head the past few months. 

“Yeah, I considered adoption but decided to keep it. You don’t have to worry about it though. I don’t need any help, financial or otherwise.” Clarke says in a cavalier voice, like it’s supposed to be a reassurance. Like she’s giving him a gift.

The anger rolls over him again, momentarily knocking away the guilt that had settled over him. “You think I’m going to abandon my kid?” he snaps at her. “You decided that all on your own, did you?”

Clarke looks taken aback by his outburst. He takes a deep breath to ensure he doesn’t raise his voice when he speaks again. 

Abby walks in with two mugs of tea before Clarke can respond. She glances uneasily between the two of them as she sets the mugs on two coasters but doesn’t say anything. Bellamy doesn’t miss the way Clarke studiously avoids her mother’s gaze until she’s gone again. 

“Didn’t tell your parents it’s mine, I gather,” he snipes. “Didn’t think they would approve?”

Clarke’s face morphs into something that looks just as angry as he feels. “You know, Bellamy, they didn’t exactly approve of me getting pregnant in the first place, regardless of who the...” 

She tears her eyes away from him and stares behind him out the window instead. He can tell she’s trying not to cry by the way she bites down on her lip and gazes towards the ceiling a moment later. She did the same thing when she showed up at their doorstep after a fight with Wells when she was fifteen. He still remembers the sounds of the sobs that broke loose once she was safely behind Octavia’s closed door.

Bellamy’s gaze drops back down to his hands clasped over his legs, guilt seeping into him once again. Clarke can’t even use the word _ father _ in the same sentence as him. The guilt and anger battle for dominance, each taking turns coursing through him. They sit in tense silence as minutes stretch on, their tea untouched. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks finally, still looking down at the floor. 

“Yes,” she answers immediately, her voice small.

Clarke’s answer surprises him enough that he looks up at her again. Vulnerability escapes through her eyes despite the mask of indifference she wears. 

“When it was convenient for you, I suppose,” he mutters. 

“I was afraid,” she admits. “I wanted to, I...I kept talking myself out of it.”

“Afraid of what?” he asks, truly curious. Afraid of him? Bellamy was always the person Octavia and her called when something went wrong. Hadn’t he earned her trust by now?

Clarke looks away from him again, gaze back on the windows. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. “I don’t know,” she says, after a beat. 

Bellamy doesn’t believe her, but doesn’t ask again. It feels pointless at the moment, not the issue to focus on. 

“Clarke.”

She looks down, fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt again. 

“Clarke,” he tries again, waiting until her eyes find their way back to his before continuing. “Clarke, I’m in this. I don’t know why you...we just need to move forward. I’m in, Clarke. I want to be here for you, for all of this. I’m going to be a father to our kid,” he promises, saying the words that she can’t. Someone has to. This is their new reality. 

“I’m sorry this happened, I shouldn’t have…” This time it’s Bellamy who trails off, unsure of how to even finish that thought. He shouldn’t have what? Fallen for her? Fucked her in a bathroom at a party? 

Clarke shakes her head at him. “Bellamy, what my dad said was wrong. He’s just...he’s overprotective, but I’m sorry he said that. He shouldn’t have. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t...I was there too. It takes two, and I take responsibility for that, no matter how my dad sees it.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Your dad was right, Clarke. I was the adult, I should have - I _ did _ \- know better. I understand why he’s mad.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. I don’t want to keep thinking about the baby that way. I don’t want my child to feel like they’re a mistake. I don’t want them to grow up watching everyone point fingers at each other.”

“Me neither,” he agrees wholeheartedly. No matter what shit is going on between him and Clarke, no matter what shit is going on in his own head, he makes a silent vow right then and there that these issues will never touch his child.

“Okay. Good,” she declares. The air is the slightest bit lighter. Bellamy sighs, finally leaning back on the stiff couch. Clarke picks up her mug of tea, taking her first sip of it even though it must be lukewarm by now. 

“I need to move back here,” Bellamy prompts. 

Clarke pauses with her mug at her lips before pulling it back down again. “Bellamy, that isn’t necessary. I don’t want you to have-”

“Clarke,” he cuts her off, shooting her a warning glance. It isn’t up for discussion. Clarke concedes, nodding and taking another sip of her tea. 

“I’ll live back at my mom’s for now, to save money. I’ve also got Octavia’s college money that she’s refusing anyways.”

Clarke shakes her head at that. “Bellamy, O wanted you to keep that. She wanted you to go to college.”

“Well, things change, Clarke. Just like Princeton changed,” he snaps. It isn’t lost on him that Clarke will no longer receive an Ivy education because of him. He hates himself for that. “It’s okay,” he assures her, voice softer. 

“But we can handle the finances. You should-”

“No,” Bellamy cuts her off again, more forcefully than he intended. “Clarke, we’re doing this 50/50. The _ we _ is you and me, not your parents. I get that they’ll help in a lot of ways, and I’m grateful for that, but I’m going to provide too. This is my responsibility, not there’s.”

“Ours,” Clarke corrects. 

“Ours,” Bellamy agrees. 

“Does um...does O know?” Bellamy asks. Strangely enough, he hadn’t thought about what she may or may not know until that moment. 

Clarke shakes her head. “No one knows I’m pregnant except my parents, who obviously didn’t know about you. Oh, and Raven Reyes I guess,” Clarke adds with a shrug.

“What?” Bellamy can’t help but let out a little laugh. “Who the hell is Raven Reyes?”

Clarke lets out a small smile like she’s reminiscing on an inside joke he isn’t privy to, but he’s just happy to see her smile at all. “It’s a long story for another day,” she tells him. “But no, I um...I didn’t want to tell O until I told you. So we should now, obviously.” She looks nervous at the prospect.

Bellamy pauses, thinking. “Honestly, I think she would rather hear it from you first, Clarke. If that’s okay.”

Clarke nods. There’s another awkward beat of silence, neither of them sure what to say or do next.

“Well, I guess that’s it for now,” Bellamy prompts. “I mean, we have a lot of figure out, but for now…”

“Yeah, we’ll talk again soon,” Clarke promises.

“You’ll, uh...let me know when you talk to O?”

“Yeah, I’ll call her tomorrow since it’s Sunday,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll walk you out.”

Thankfully Clarke’s parents are nowhere to be found when she walks him back through the house and out the front door. She surprises him by following him outside to his car. 

“Um.” She fidgets again, as if nervous. “I have my twenty week, my five month, appointment on Tuesday, if you want to come. You don’t have to. It’s fine if you can’t, I just wanted to-”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. She seems to visibly relax at that. “Just let me know when and where,” he adds. 

Bellamy looks at her one last time before he gets into his car. For a moment, the craziness of the last few hours feels unreal. All that feels real to him is Clarke standing in front of him, looking broken and unsure. Nothing like like confident, smart ass he knows Clarke Griffin to be. He just wants to pull her closer, to hold her and promise that everything will be okay. But it’s not his place to make those promises, not when he’s the one who broke her.

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he says, one last time. “About...about all of it.”

_ I’m sorry I got you pregnant. I’m sorry I was supposed to protect you and I ruined you instead. I’m sorry you’re going to be a teen mom instead of a Princeton graduate. I’m sorry I haven’t been here, even if you didn’t want me here. _

Clarke shakes her head at that, looking at the ground for a moment before facing him again. 

“I should have told you,” she responds, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Let’s just move forward. Okay?” he suggests, opening the car door. “And answer your phone, yeah?” he adds, shooting her a teasing glare.

Clarke nods in agreement and gives him a small smile. It’s more than a grimace but doesn’t quite meet her eyes. 

\--∞--

Clarke walks back into her house feeling overwhelming relief. The world didn’t fall apart like she had expected it might. It’s not like it’ll be seamless. It’s not like she’s sure of how Octavia will react or how she’s going to manage the fact that after seeing Bellamy again, she’s pretty certain her feelings haven’t gone away. But still, it’s one huge hurdle managed. She’ll take what she can get. 

Clarke’s parents are waiting for her in the kitchen when she walks in with their mugs, both still full of tea. They’re sitting at the island with mugs of their own, watching her carefully as she places the mugs in the sink. Clarke knows she has some explaining to do, but at the moment she’s feeling more pissed at her father than guilty.

“Clarke,” Abby starts, a warning in her voice.

“Relax,” Clarke tells her, taking a seat on one of the stools across from them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Clarke turns her attention towards her father, who doesn’t look as sheepish as Clarke thinks that he should. “That was totally uncalled for. You can’t go pushing people into walls because you don’t like them.”

“That man...he took advantage of you, Clarke.” His voice is nearly a growl.

“Stop it, I’m not a child. I made my own choices, so stop acting like I’m a victim! Frankly, it’s insulting to me,” Clarke yells at him.

“Okay, we all need to relax,” Abby intercedes. “Talk about this calmly.”

“Clarke,” she says, turning to her. “Were Bellamy and you...was this a relationship we didn’t know about?”

“No, it was...it was just the once,” Clarke affirms. “Which is why you were out of line,” she adds, looking directly at her dad. 

“That doesn’t mean that he wasn’t-”

“Jesus, Jake. Enough!” Abby cuts him off. “It is what it is.”

“You might as well get used to him, dad. He said he’s 100% in and wants to be a dad and support the baby.”

“Yeah, well see,” Jake mutters. 

“Why would you doubt that?” Clarke asks, exasperated. “He basically raised Octavia and has always taken care of her and his mom. Why would his own kid be any different?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. You tell me. If you felt this way all along, I’m having a little trouble figuring out why you never wanted to tell him. Why you clearly got _ caught _ by him before you told him.”

“Because, I-” Clarke stutters. “I just…” _ I just have an enormous crush on him. I just didn’t want him to reject me, because it would be unbearable. _“I was just afraid, I guess,” she finishes lamely. “But I didn’t have a reason to be. Except for fear of you killing him, I guess,” Clarke snaps. 

“Clarke,” Abby warns. “Your dad’s reaction was…” She shoots him a glare. “Inappropriate. But you have to understand that, as your parents, this is concerning. He was 18 years old, an adult, when we were leaving you there unsupervised with him at just 13. And now, a 23 year old having a relationship with a high schooler-”

“I told you it wasn’t a relationship.”

“You know what I mean.”

“It wasn’t like that. It was never like that, not until...this. Until that night, one night. I was 18.”

“Clarke, that’s just not the point. I’m just saying, I think it’s reasonable we have some concerns, but I understand that we need to move forward. We all need to move past this, especially if he’s going to be in the baby’s life.”

Clarke and Jake both nod in agreement, the latter more reluctantly. 

“I’m guessing Octavia doesn’t know,” Abby prompts. 

Clarke shakes her head. “No, but I’m going to facetime her tomorrow. She doesn’t have trainings on Sunday. Now that Bellamy knows, I’m going to tell her everything.”

Abby must read the nerves on Clarke’s face at the prospect of that. She takes her hand across the island. “It’ll be okay, honey. She might need some time, but it’ll be okay. Octavia loves you both.”

Clarke nods. She doesn’t want to talk about that anymore. If she thinks about it too much, it’ll be harder to do. 

“Bellamy is coming to the appointment on Tuesday,” Clarke says instead. 

“Okay,” Abby nods. “You’re okay with that?”

“Yeah, I invited him. I believe him, you know. About wanting to be involved. And I think it’ll be good for the baby to have both parents.”

“I think so too,” Abby agrees, giving her a soft smile.

\--∞--

Clarke wrings her hands, sitting at her desk with her laptop open. T-minus three minutes until her call with Octavia. Three minutes until her best friend might hate her forever. If not for Bellamy knocking her up, then certainly for lying about it for nearly three months. 

Clarke holds her breath as she hits the call button. _ Bellamy already knows _ , she reminds herself. _ The hardest part is over, just get through this _.

“Hey girl!” O greets, wearing her usual bold smile. It looks like she’s in a dorm room of sorts, but it’s bare and orderly, no decorations or clutter. “Or should I say stranger. Your emails have been short and _ boring _, to say the least.”

Clarke laughs lightly at that, but it must not sound genuine.

“What’s the matter?” Octavia can read her like a book. 

Before Clarke can even answer, Clarke sees Octavia take in her surroundings. “Clarke, why are you at home? What happened?”

“O, everything’s okay. Kind of. Everyone’s fine, there’s just...I need to tell you something.”

Clarke watches as Octavia’s face transforms into something more serious, her expression neutral as she waits for Clarke to continue. Clarke looks up at her ceiling, gathering her thoughts and willing herself to wait until she gets it all out before she breaks into tears. She cries too damn much these days, it’s getting inconvenient. 

“Clarke,” Octavia prompts.

Okay, here it goes. “Um, okay. Well you know how I told you that at the Mbeges’ party in March that...about Bellamy and I?”

“Yeah…” Octavia agrees, clearly confused.

“Um. Uh, well, a few days after graduation, is when I found out that...Octavia, I’m pregnant.”

Clarke holds her breath, trying not to give herself a heart attack. That certainly wouldn’t be good for the baby. 

Octavia is quiet for a moment. Of all emotions Clarke expected the announcement might stir in O, it wasn’t sadness. But that’s what Clarke sees.

“Um, _ are _ pregnant? So you kept it then?”

“Yeah,” Clarke confirms.

“Okay,” Octavia sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Okay,” she repeats, as if she’s still processing the statement. “You guys have known for months, and you didn’t tell me?” Her voice cracks on the last word. Clarke realizes how this must sound to her - like her and Bellamy were keeping this from her together. 

Clarke shakes her head. “No, no, O. Bellamy just found out two days ago. I didn’t tell him, which is why I didn’t tell you. But now he knows, so…” Clarke could blubber a bunch of excuses about her choices but she doesn’t want to defend herself. She just wants to come clean, let the cards fall where they may. 

“Oh,” Octavia replies, sounding a little relieved. “You didn’t even tell him? Bell just found out? Is he alright?”

“I think so. He told me you would want to hear it from me, I don’t know if that was true. But um, he knows we're talking and said he would talk to you about it later.”

“Alright,” she says, her voice harder. Still, for Octavia, she’s remaining impressively calm. “I just...were you just never going to tell him? Tell me? I’m trying to understand Clarke, I am.”

“I was, I just-” Clarke takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, O. I don’t want to make excuses. I was just afraid, I was so afraid. I just made assumptions about how he would take it and my anxiety ran away with them. The longer I waited, the harder it got. Then he caught me in the dairy section at Safeway.”

“Oh my god,” Octavia says, burying her face in her hands. It takes Clarke a moment to realize that her shoulders are shaking from laughter.

“O, it’s not funny!”

Octavia moves her hands away from her face, still laughing. “Oh, but it’s a little funny though,” she sighs once she settles down. 

Clarke just shakes her head at her, a small smirk escaping against her will. 

“So how’s this going to work then?” Octavia asks, tone serious again.

“Well, we talked and he said he wants to be 100% involved.”

Octavia shoots her a look, like that much should have been obvious.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, O. I’m an idiot. We’ve established that. But beyond that, obviously Princeton isn’t happening.”

Octavia’s eyes shine with sympathy. Her best friend looks so genuinely sad for her. 

“It’s okay, I’ll just take classes at Arkadia State. I’ll figure it out. I know I’m privileged, most people don’t have parents like mine. I can’t really complain about something like college when I have their support.”

“They didn’t freak out?”

“My mom was...scarily calm. She’s been great. My dad...he’s had his ups and downs.” Clarke decides to leave it at that for now. Bellamy can tell her about that episode if he wants to. 

“And Bellamy says he’s moving back,” Clarke continues. “I’m sorry, O. I tried to tell him to go to school with your money, that we didn’t need it, but he wants to put it towards the baby.”

Octavia waves her off. “Don’t beat yourself about that. It was a done deal the minute he found out. You should know that no one will talk him out of something like that.”

Clarke nods, feeling a little better about that at least. A little less like it’s her fault or she could have done anything different. 

“So have you talked about how you’re going to split time and all that? Like all the messy details?”

“No, not really,” Clarke admits. “But he just found out. We will.”

“Well, you two better get your shit together fast or this whole thing will be a mess,” she warns. Clarke laughs but knows there’s an underlying truth, an underlying warning there.

“Oh my god,” Octavia exclaims, eyes lighting up. “I just realized I’m going to be your baby’s aunt.”

“Just put that together, did you?” Clarke teases. 

“Oh, shut up!” Octavia shoots back, smiling widely.

“Enough about my drama. Tell me how you’re doing,” Clarke commands. 

They spend another twenty minutes talking about Octavia’s training, the good and the bad. Clarke loves the way Octavia smiles when she talks about it. It’s clear it’s making her happy in a way that nothing in school ever could. 

“Okay, I’ve got to go. But before I do, don’t think you’re leaving before I see the baby bump.”

Clarke rolls her eyes but knows she’ll have hell to pay if she doesn’t appease her. She stands up in front of the screen and pulls her tank top up. At 20 weeks, her bump is already pretty defined. It dawns on her then that she’s almost halfway there. 

“That’s wild.” Octavia exclaims. Clarke is looking down at her bump but can hear the smile in Octavia’s voice. “That’s _ Bellamy’s _ baby in there.”

Clarke laughs. “Yes, Octavia.”

“Damn, this is crazy. I can’t even believe it. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You and me both,” Clarke agrees, sitting back down. “It’s a lot to get used to, to process. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and Bellamy sooner.”

“I know. I forgive you. I’m not saying it was right or okay, but...I understand it, in a way.”

Clarke nods, thankful for that. 

“And I’m sorry too,” Octavia continues.

“Sorry about what?” Clarke asks, confused. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“I’m just...I’m sorry things didn’t really go as planned. For the both of you. I know everything will turn out okay, certainly for the kid since they’ll have you two as parents. But I know this was never part of the plan, Clarke. I’m sorry about Princeton, I know you worked hard for that.”

“I know,” she agrees. “I’ve...I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with that though, and I think I’m okay with it. I didn’t have to have the baby, and even so I could have given it up for adoption. This was my decision. I chose not to follow the plan. This is the new plan, it’s what I want.”

Octavia smiles at that. “Okay. Love you, kid. Keep me updated on every miniscule detail of your life from now on. You owe me that much.”

“Absolutely,” Clarke smiles. “Love you too, O.”

\--∞--

Bellamy drums his fingers on the wooden arm of the waiting room chair, his leg bouncing nervously. He’s nearly 20 minutes early, but he was just sitting around the house, doing nothing but waiting to leave. He figured he might as well sit around and wait here, in the room called the waiting room, but it wasn’t a good idea. Between the pregnant women that cycle in and out of the room and the magazine choices, he’s being accosted with the very thing that’s making him so anxious. 

Bellamy wonders if there would be any difference if he never found out about the kid, if he was never in it’s life. Maybe it would be just fine without him, being raised by the Griffins. They definitely did a good job with Clarke. Maybe it could have gone it’s entire life without Bellamy knowing and be no worse off for it. He shakes his head at himself. He’s trying to be more positive and not go down those rabbit holes.

_ The past few days have been a whirlwind for him. When he got home from Clarke’s on Saturday, he barely remembered the drive home. He felt like a zombie on auto-pilot when he walked into the house. His mom was in the kitchen making tea when she saw him walk in. He must have looked as terrible as he felt because she immediately turned the stove off and asked him what was wrong. _

_ Bellamy numbly sat down at the kitchen table without a word. As soon as his mom sat next to him, he buried his face in his hands, unable to face her. He didn’t deserve any sympathy or pity. _

_ “My boy,” she murmured, rubbing his back. “What happened, honey?” _

_ Bellamy removed his hands from his face and let out a deep breath, trying to be stronger than he felt. “I got a girl pregnant,” he admitted at last, his voice cracking over the words. _

_ Aurora only nodded solemnly, clearly surprised but otherwise calm. “Were you seeing someone, honey? Is she somebody from Sacramento?” _

_ Bellamy shook his head. “No, I’m not, I…” He wasn’t sure how to say it out loud, but he needed to learn quickly. He wondered if she’d be as disappointed in him as the Griffins were angry. “It’s Clarke, Mom.” _

_ His mom couldn’t hide the shock that washed over her face before he saw it. “Bellamy…” she started. He turned away from her, unable to meet her eyes. _

_ “Like father, like son,” he scoffed as he looked out the window, letting out a humorless laugh. _

_ “Hey, none of that,” she scolded firmly, taking his chin gently and pulling his face back to face hers. “I don’t see you running, I don’t see you going anywhere. Are you going somewhere I don’t know about?” she quipped. _

_ Bellamy shook his head at her even though he knew she was being rhetorical. _

_ “It’s going to be alright,” she promised. “Let’s talk about this.” _

_ So they did. They sat at the kitchen table, the same one Octavia and Clarke carved their names on when they were 14, and he came clean. He told his mom the G-rated version of all of it. _

_ Bellamy kept busy the next few days, feeling better when he had something tangible to do, things to tick off a list. He quit his job in Sacramento and dipped into his savings to break his lease, telling them he’d be back the next weekend to move out. He got lucky and was offered back his old job at the security firm in Arkadia when he explained his situation to Miller’s dad. _

_ Still, he needed to find a second job and he knew his old bar wouldn’t hire him back, that they would have already replaced him. He made some calls on Monday and was lucky enough to get a call back from one of them. They told him to swing by the bar on Wednesday afternoon for an interview. Bartending was the easiest way to make extra cash, especially with the tips, so he hoped that worked out. He certainly has the experience for it. _

_ Then there’s Octavia. She ended up calling him Sunday night. It was probably the nicest she’d ever been to him, which should be cause for concern about the current state of things. She asked how he was feeling about the whole thing, about Clarke keeping it from him. They talked for over an hour and he felt a lot better by the end of it. The only moment of tension was when she suggested that maybe him and Clarke might become something more, how maybe they could explore that now that she wasn’t leaving. He quickly shut down the idea, telling her it wasn’t at all where they were at. There were more important things to worry about. _

_ Still, all things considered, things were going okay. _

Abby’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see them at the entrance. Abby is dressed for work and Clarke is nodding along to something she’s saying about her dad picking her up after the appointment. She’s wearing leggings and running sneakers, with a tanktop stretched over her bump and a jean jacket. Her hair is messily braided back again and he wonders how it’s possible that she still looks so beautiful when she isn’t even trying. 

“Hi,” Clarke greets him, sitting down beside him. 

“Bellamy,” Abby nods at him. 

“Ma’am,” Bellamy greets her. He doesn’t miss how Clarke shoots her mom a glare right before Abby corrects him. 

“Abby is fine, Bellamy,” Abby sighs. It’s clear that she’s still not happy with him, but he’ll take her over Jake.

“Okay, your dad will pick you up when you’re done. I’ll see you later, honey,” she tells Clarke, giving her a quick kiss on the head. 

“Oh, I can give her a ride home,” Bellamy offers. 

Abby looks at him with inquisitive eyes, like she’s searching for something, thinking something over. Clarke opens her mouth to say something, but Bellamy’s not sure what. Abby beats her to it. 

“Actually, that would be great. I’ll let Jake know,” she tells him, still eyeing him in a way that makes him nervous. Like it’s a test, but he isn’t sure if he just passed or failed. 

They sit beside one another in silence once Abby leaves, neither really comfortable around each other yet in light of the situation. He supposes that will change soon enough, for better or for worse. For now though, Bellamy continues to bounce his leg and Clarke studiously picks at her nails. 

“What happened to your car?” he asks.

“In the shop,” she answers, not giving him anything else. 

A few more terribly long minutes pass. 

“Clarke Griffin,” the nurse announces. 

Bellamy thinks that Clarke sighs in relief when she hears that, standing quicker than him despite being pregnant. He follows closely behind Clarke, fighting some primal urge to put his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the crowded hallway. The nurse leads them into an exam room and Clarke climbs up onto the exam table. Bellamy stands awkwardly to the side while Clarke takes off her jacket and the nurse takes her vitals. He feels like he’s intruding on something private. Eventually he sticks his hands in his jean pockets, unsure of what to do with them. 

“There’s a seat there, if you want it,” the nurse offers, nodding to the plastic chair behind him.

“Oh, thanks,” he tells her, sitting down. 

Bellamy’s nerves feel like they’re bouncing around his body as he waits. He’s going to see his - _ their _ \- baby for the first time.

\--∞--

Clarke continues picking at her nails once the nurse leaves and they wait for Dr. Jackson and the ultrasound tech. She can’t remember the last time they were this short, chewed down to the point of pain. She glances at Bellamy, seated in an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair beside her. He looks even more nervous than her, which makes sense. He’s nervous about seeing the ultrasound for the first time, about seeing their baby. She’s been through this twice and is more nervous about the fact Bellamy is sitting next to her.

She’s trying not to be too dramatic about Bellamy, but if she’s being honest, the phrase that comes to mind when she thinks of him is _ emotional turmoil _. That’s the way it’s always been with them. Really horrible or really great, never anything in between. Right now, she’s working on ignoring the attraction she feels for him that is seeping through her anger. It’s all too much, how her conflicting emotions are all bundled up together.

There’s also a little guilt, even if she hasn’t forgiven Bellamy for everything. She knows in her heart of hearts she should have told him much sooner. She should have told him the moment she decided to have the baby, let alone letting him find out on his own two months later. She shouldn’t have let her personal feelings cloud her judgement. But like she told Octavia, the longer she waited, the more terrifying the prospect seemed. Even after all that, he was still clearly trying to be the bigger person and move on.

She should do the same, but that terrible, dark part of her bubbling underneath the surface won’t allow that. It won’t allow her to be vulnerable or anything more than polite with him. It’s the part of her that thinks not telling him was a fitting punishment for his rejection months ago. Maybe what makes her most angry is how easy it is to forget that she’s mad at him, like how she finds herself defending him to her parents at every turn. 

There’s a knock on the door that rattles Clarke out of her spiraling thoughts. 

“Come in,” she calls.

“Hi, Clarke,” Dr. Jackson greets her as he steps inside, wearing that easy smile she’s quickly growing accustomed to. 

“Hi. Um, this is Bellamy,” she introduces, trying not to sound as awkward as she feels. “The father,” Clarke clarifies, trying out the word. _ Father. Bellamy. Mother. Her. Their kid. _All things she needs to get used to.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Bellamy says, standing up to shake his hand. 

“Likewise,” Dr. Jackson replies warmly. “So how are feeling, Clarke?” he asks, turning his attention back to her as he looks at her charts and the ultrasound tech sets up the machine. She glances to her side and notices that Bellamy has remained standing, his close proximity sending a small shiver down her spine.

“I’m okay,” she answers. 

Dr. Jackson nods, setting the charts down. “Well everything on your charts looks great. And congrats, by the way. You’re officially halfway there.”

Clarke has to stop herself from visibly gulping. Since having that realization while talking to Octavia, it’s become a reminder of how ill-prepared she feels. 

“Hopefully your morning sickness is officially behind you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I feel great, no more nausea,” she tells him. “I’m a lot less tired too,” she adds. 

“That’s great, Clarke,” he smiles. “Yeah, you’ll notice the second trimester is usually the easiest.” She sees how Dr. Jackson looks at Bellamy too when he speaks, making an effort to include him in the conversation. “Aside from some normal body aches and cramps, you should generally have more energy and a higher sex drive for the next few weeks.”

Clarke tries to be mature, tries not to flinch as she nods at the comment. She knows she would have been fine if Bellamy wasn’t standing next to her, but as it is, she knows without a mirror how her neck and face have turned bright red. When she spares a glance at Bellamy, he’s looking at the ground. Dr. Jackson doesn’t miss a beat.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he says. Clarke leans back on the exam table and pulls up her tanktop so her bump is exposed. Bellamy hasn’t moved any further away from her. If anything, he seems to be hovering closer, now gripping the side of the table. She’s not sure how to tell him to back off without being rude and the only reason she really needs him to back off seems to be directly related to what Dr. Jackson just told her about her high libido. Suffice it to say, a masochistic part of her wants him to stay put, wants him to move even closer. 

Dr. Jackson squeezes the ultrasound gel onto her stomach and Clarke twitches as he spreads it around. 

“Cold?” Bellamy chuckles lightly. 

“Yeah,” she murmurs, unwilling to let herself laugh with him. 

She shifts her focus to the screen as Dr. Jackson moves the wand over her abdomen. Soon enough, the familiar pulse of the baby’s heart beats throughout the room. 

“And that, Dad, is your baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Jackson tells Bellamy. 

Clarke feels just as emotional as the last two times she heard it, but this time her eyes flicker to the man next to her. The man whose eyes are moist. He surprises her when his eyes shift to hers, catching her gaze. A soft smile teases the corners of his lips. Instead of looking away like her anger demands, she finds herself gazing back at him. She gets lost in his warm brown eyes, in the feeling of finally having an equal in this, something like an anchor to ground her.

“And that right there,” Jackson says, pointing to the small static blob on the screen, “is your baby.” 

Bellamy tears his eyes from her to look at the screen, seemingly reluctant to do so. Clarke continues to watch him as he watches the screen. He nods at Dr. Jackson but doesn’t say anything, just swallows harshly and grips the table tighter. 

“And it looks like we’re able to tell the sex today,” he adds. “Is that something you guys are interested in?”

Clarke’s attention snaps away from Bellamy and back to Dr. Jackson like a rubber band. 

“What?” she asks dumbly. Sex? Is she ready to know the sex? Does she _ want _ to know the sex ahead of time? She hasn’t thought about any of this yet. Why hasn’t she thought about this yet?

She feels Bellamy’s gaze on her as she panics at the simple question. Dr. Jackson begins to repeat his question but Bellamy cuts him off.

“You know, we haven’t discussed um...that, what we’re going to do. So I think we’re going to table that for today.” It comes out like a question, one she knows is for her by the way his eyes remain on her instead of on the doctor he’s technically answering.

Clarke nods, for the first time feeling overwhelming relief that Bellamy is with her. Bellamy, who can take control when she’s overwhelmed, but not in a way that feels dismissive of her. “Yeah, let’s wait for now,” she agrees.

“Great,” Dr. Jackson tells them with a smile, wiping the sonogram gel off her stomach as the tech shuts down the machine. “We’ll print a couple copies and then you guys are good to go.”

Dr. Jackson and the tech leave her and Bellamy alone in the room. She suddenly feels drained from the intensity of the moment, of having Bellamy here. As she sits up and begins to pull her shirt down, she catches Bellamy’s gaze on the bare skin of her stomach. When she looks up at him, he looks away quickly as if he’s been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. 

“Uh, do you want to…” she offers, pulling her shirt back up and gesturing awkwardly at her bump. She supposes she can offer at least his after keeping the pregnancy from him. 

“Oh,” Bellamy answers, running a hand through his hair. For a brief second, Clarke feels horrified she misread the gaze. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to make you feel like-” he starts.

“It’s fine” she assures him, attempting to keep her voice neutral. “I think it’s too early for someone else to feel it move, but I have,” she explains. 

“Is it moving at all now?” he asks once his palm is flush against the curve of her stomach. 

Clarke shakes her head. “No, I just meant in general.”

Bellamy moves his hand a few inches across it, his face in awe. “What does it feel like?” he asks, his face curious and vulnerable. It’s a side of Bellamy she has no experience with. 

“Uh, kind of like...a small fluttering. Like butterflies.”

“That’s crazy,” he tells her, shaking his head. “I’m still wrapping my head around all this.”

Clarke didn’t think this through though, because the feel of his warm hand sliding across her skin is almost too much to handle. Each fingertip feels like a spark and her mind can’t help but wander off to the last time his fingers were so close to her. 

Just before she thinks she won’t be able to help but rub her legs together, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she answers. Bellamy lets her go so that she can pull her shirt back down. She’s going to need a cold shower when she gets home. 

“Here you go,” Dr. Jackson says, handing off the ultrasound prints. “Do you guys have any other questions?”

Clarke is already shaking her head no when Bellamy speaks up. “Yeah, um. How long until someone else can feel the baby move?”

“Well, it really depends on a lot of factors, but it’s generally in the 24-28 week range.”

“Okay, cool. Thanks.” 

It makes Clarke feel unwanted butterflies, unrelated to the baby, that he cares so much about that. But it’s also a stark reminder that he’s here for the _ baby _ , not her. Everytime she finds something new to like about Bellamy Blake, it’s still somehow a reminder that he doesn’t want _ her _. 

They say goodbye to Dr. Jackson and Bellamy helps Clarke off of the examination table. It’s only after she lets him that she remembers she shouldn’t. She follows him out to the parking garage silently kicking herself for letting her anger slip away once again. 

Clarke has to stifle a laugh when she sees the familiar red corolla. She nearly forgot that Bellamy still drives it. The same car Bellamy had driven Octavia and Clarke to their first double date in, the car that Bellamy had to pull over for Octavia to throw up after a New Year’s Eve party their sophomore year. It was the same car that Octavia drove into a ditch and Clarke had taken the fall for because Octavia was so afraid of how Bellamy would react. When they called Bellamy for help, they interrupted a date he was on and he didn’t speak to Clarke for a month after that. She hadn’t realized that most of Octavia and her memories of the car had somehow also involved Bellamy. 

“What are you smiling at?” Bellamy teases, climbing into the car. 

“Oh, just this stupid car. A lot of memories.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he laughs, putting on a pair of aviators and throwing an arm around the back of her seat as he pulls out of the spot. 

Why does he have to be so attractive, even driving this piece of shit car. Raven’s words come back to her, how Bellamy was apparently such a heartthrob in high school. Despite how attracted to him she is, she never would have guessed that. She supposes she should have. Isn’t that why the rest of Octavia’s friends were fawning over him at her 13th birthday party? It’s just not the way he’s attractive to her. He’s not some high school prince charming, he’s just...he’s Bellamy.

“I think a personal favorite was when you drove this car into a ditch,” Bellamy laughs, shaking his head as he pulls onto the main road. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, unable to help but laugh with him at the memory. 

“Air okay?” he asks, already reaching for the control knob. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

His hand falls away from it and just like that, they fall back into an uncomfortable silence, both unsure of what to say. 

“That was actually O,” Clarke blurts. She has no idea why she says it. Maybe because anything sounds better than this icy silence. 

“What?” he asks, clearly having already moved on from that topic.

“It was, um. It was O that drove the car into the ditch.”

She expects him to tease her, to crack another joke. Instead, his voice is serious. Bewildered even. “Why did you say it was you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs. “O thought you would be mad, so I covered for her.”

“I didn’t talk to you for a month,” he says, as if she’s unaware.

“I know?” She’s not sure what he’s getting at. 

“I was so mad at you, and you just took it. You never said anything.”

“Of course not,” Clarke says, equally bewildered at why he’s confused by this. “It was just easier. You already hated me, and that way you wouldn’t be mad at O.”

Bellamy sighs. “I...I didn’t _ hate _ you, Clarke.”

Clarke laughs at that. “Bellamy, you don’t need to pretend we got along just because I’m...because of this,” she tells him, gesturing at her bump.

“No really, Clarke, I…” He runs a hand through his hair. If he doesn’t stop, she’s going to jump him right here in the car. _ Damn hormones _. 

“I mean, maybe when I first met you, you were a bit of a brat,” he smirks. “But it didn’t take long before you were just...I don’t know, a worthy sparring partner?” 

Clarke can’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, I guess I felt the same.”

“I didn’t hate you, Clarke,” he insists. “I could never _ hate _you.”

“Radio?” she asks, ignoring his statement as she reaches over to turn it on. 

When she glances at Bellamy, his lips are pressed in a tight line. He doesn’t say anything else.


	13. Wish I Could Get a Little Undrunk, I Could Unlove You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this is late this week. It was my birthday week and I had a lot of shit going on. This was one of the first scenes/chapter ideas I had when thinking about writing this story, so it was really fun to write. Anyways, the next chapter will be out on time on Thursday this week and hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter title is from the song Undrunk by Fletcher. Thank you to the user whirlinground who told me in a comment that this song is perfect for this fic, they were right!

“I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this,” Clarke mutters, uncorking a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. 

“Oh my god, you’re so damn dramatic,” Octavia laughs, shaking her head at Clarke. “We’re having a girls night at a club, not going to a strip club to take body shots.”

Clarke rolls her eyes with a smile as she pours them each a glass of wine. 

“Then again,” Octavia continues. “It is your birthday, so if you _ want _ body shots off strippers…”

“No, no,” Clarke argues, handing Octavia her glass of wine. “Let’s not pretend this is for my birthday. This is Emori taking advantage of my birthday because she wants a night out at all the places Murphy refuses to step foot in.”

The two women walk over back into Clarke’s living room and sit on opposite ends of the couch.

“Well you’re not wrong about that, but she’s also not wrong about your birthday. You’re turning 25, that’s a big deal.”

“Yes, and we celebrated with the party Raven threw for me last weekend.”

“That was like a...dinner party, at most. Your six year old was there.”

“I _ like _ my six year old,” Clarke laughs. 

“Well tomorrow is your real birthday, anyways. So we’re going to have a real celebration, unlike your fake party.”

Clarke laughs. “Alright, whatever. I guess it doesn’t matter, I’m going either way.”

Clarke smiles at her best friend, the closest thing to a sister she’s ever known. She looks older. Just as bold as when they were sixteen, but there’s an edge to her now. She isn’t the carefree, wild spirit she was when Clarke knew her best. She’s still just as striking though, in leather leggings and a dark red tank top. Her hair is pulled into a high bun that Clarke could never pull off.

“This was a good idea,” Octavia smiles. “Coming home right before the holidays and everything, it’s just been crazy. I’m glad we can have a few hours to catch up before Emori is shoving shots down our throats. Pregaming just like old times.”

“Hmm, so maybe I should toss these and find some orange juice and cheap vodka.”

Octavia barks out a loud laugh. “God, the thought of that makes me want to throw up.”

“Feels like forever ago, doesn’t it?” Clarke reminisces. “Longer than seven years ago.”

“Well, a lot has happened in those seven years. We both had to grow up fast.”

Clarke sighs. “You’re not wrong.”

“So,” she continues, shaking the nostalgia off. “What’s the latest with Lincoln?”

Octavia’s eyes light up. “Well, we’ve been hanging out a lot the last few weeks, since Christmas. I just- I never get sick of him, which is so strange for me. I feel like I always get bored with people, you know? But Lincoln...he’s this strange combination of safe and thrilling that I can’t put into words.”

Clarke smiles wider. “Soo...I take it that means you guys are sleeping together.”

Octavia flashes Clarke with mock disapproval. “Clarke Griffin, I never kiss and tell.”

“Ha!” Clarke snorts. “You _ always _ kiss and tell.”

“Yeah, I know,” Octavia laughs. “We are and it’s...unreal. I just can’t get enough of him, I feel like a horny teenager. Although, I never felt like this about anyone in high school either. But I feel like a teenager again when I’m around him. So...so light. But I can also trust him with the heavy stuff too. He’s been there. In a different way from me of course, but he’s been there. He gets it.” Octavia shakes her head at herself. “I sound insane, I’ve only known him a month.”

“Well, when you know, you know,” Clarke shrugs. 

Octavia pauses. “So...when did you _ know _ with Cillian?”

Clarke hesitates, her glass to her lips. She takes her time taking a sip while Octavia watches her with expectant eyes.

“I don’t know if there was really a _ singular _ moment.”

Octavia eyes her, almost wearily, before speaking. “Well, people sneak up on you sometimes,” she says, finally. 

“Yeah, they do.”

“So,” Octavia starts, eyes focused on her wine glass as she takes another sip. “Was there a singular moment when you knew with Bellamy?”

“What-” Clarke stutters, nearly choking on the sip of wine she was swallowing. “I don’t feel that way about Bellamy. _ Obviously _.”

Octavia smirks at her. “_ Obviously _. I meant in the past. I mean, you used to, right?”

Clarke furrows her brow at her, unsure of what to say. In spite of how close they were and are, Clarke never spoke of her feelings about Bellamy to Octavia. She never really spoke to anyone about it, but certainly not Octavia.

“I…I mean, yes I had a crush on him years ago. Before Lucie. But that’s...that’s not the same, O.”

“My mistake,” Octavia says, putting up a hand in defense. “I just made an assumption I guess.”

“It’s fine,” Clarke smiles, even as her heart is pounding at the conversation. If she keeps talking about it, she fears her mask will easily slip off in front of Octavia. She downs the rest of her wine in one go and stands. 

“Want more?” Clarke asks.

Octavia glances at her glass that’s still half full. “I’m good…” she smirks, giving her a look that’s some combination of concerned and amused.

Clarke just shrugs before walking back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she plops down on the couch with her second glass.

“Speaking of Bellamy, what’s up with you two?”

Clarke does her best to appear confused at the question, although she knows exactly what Octavia is talking about.

“Nothing’s up with us,” she answers dismissively. “Did Bellamy say there was something up?” she adds a moment later, attempting to appear indifferent.

“No, Bellamy didn’t say anything. You guys seemed like you were practically avoiding each other at your party, I don’t think I saw you guys exchange two words.”

“You’re exaggerating, O,” Clarke says, trying her best not to sound defensive. “We’ve just both been busy, that’s all. We talk all the time. Do you want to see the receipts from our conversation earlier today about Lucie spending the night at my parents?”

Octavia laughs. “Alright, I get it. I guess I misread the situation.”

Clarke knows she didn’t misread anything and feels a little guilty about making her feel like she did. The truth is, things have been weird. Things have been tense and Clarke is pretty sure they’re in a fight, but they haven’t been in one of those in so long that she’s not entirely certain. It’s not like her and Bellamy haven’t argued over the years. They’re still Bellamy and Clarke. They bicker over things frequently, but even when the bickering turns into a real argument, they usually talk it out by the next day. But this...this feels different. Clarke hasn’t had a conversation unrelated to Lucie’s schedule with him since New Year’s Eve, and that was nearly three weeks ago. 

The thing is, Clarke isn’t sure how to talk it out because she’s not entirely sure what they’re even fighting about. She knows Bellamy was rude to her and snapped at her, and she was angry at him for that. She was just looking to talk to him, thought he might be feeling the same things she was: uncertainty, afraid of all the change. But he emotionally slammed the door in her face and she knows for certain that she was angry about that. She fully expected Bellamy to call the next day and apologize, to explain that he was upset about something and took it out on her. She would have forgiven him and they would have moved on. But Bellamy didn’t apologize. He didn’t call or stop by. Clarke still doesn’t understand what she did or what he’s pissed off about, but she knows now that she’s just as pissed off at him for acting this way. 

“Clarke, about Bellamy. You should know-”

Octavia is cut off by Clarke’s familiar ringtone. Clarke puts her finger up as she pulls her phone from her back pocket. “One sec.”

“You bitches ready, we’re two minutes away,” Raven says.

Clarke laughs. “Yeah Rey, see you soon,” she replies, hanging up.

“I guess they’re picking us up in an uber in two minutes,” Clarke tells Octavia. “What were you saying though?”

Octavia shakes her head. “It’s not- nevermind.”

“Bottoms up,” she adds before Clarke can ask anything further, clinking her wine glass with hers. 

“Bottoms up,” Clarke giggles, downing the rest of her wine. 

\--∞--

Bellamy pauses on the stairway once he locks up his apartment. He throws his keys in his pocket and unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up to his forearms. He’s gone back and forth on that decision twice now, not sure why he’s feeling so nervous about this date with Roma. It’s not like he doesn’t know her. He knew her _ very _ well once upon a time. Sure, people change, but tonight shouldn’t be as stressful as a first date with a stranger. He doesn’t have to explain anything, to include his daughter and baby mama. He’s acting ridiculous.

When Bellamy opens the door to the bar, he finds that there’s a few people hanging around at the tables and at the bar with drinks, but there’s not much of a crowd yet. It’s only a little after 6, after all. On a Friday night, the real crowd doesn’t show up until after 9. As expected, Murphy is working the bar alone before someone else comes in a little later to help with the evening crowd. What’s not expected is the sight of Miller seated at the bar, chatting with Murphy. 

Bellamy furrows his brow and walks over to where he’s seated.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Jackson and I are checking out that new steakhouse a few blocks away but he’s running late at the hospital. Figured I’d come harass this asshole to help pass the time.”

Bellamy hums at that, druming his fingers on the bar. 

“Don’t you have a hot date to get to?” Murphy prompts. 

“Remind me again why you’re going out with Roma?” Miller asks before Bellamy can answer.

“Because she’s hot,” Murphy answers, shooting Miller a look like it should be obvious. 

“You guys know I’m standing right here,” Bellamy cuts in.

“Alright, what’s the non-Murphy answer?” Miller asks.

Murphy scoffs. “Just because she’s not hot to you, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Well, besides that,” Bellamy replies. “I don’t know, we got along well when we used to hang out.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been running from her desperate attempts to get you into bed ever since,” Miller argues.

“Yeah, and I don’t know why. So, she’s into me. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Miller raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. “I guess, man.” He takes a hearty sip of his beer.

“You guess?”

“Well, maybe there’s a reason it didn’t work out.”

Murphy scoffs again. “Jesus, Miller. Let the guy get laid and move on if he’s not going to do anything about Clarke.”

Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to respond before Murphy walks over to the patron a few seats down who just lifted his empty glass towards him, signaling for a refill.

“Whatever,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to be late, have fun at dinner.”

\--∞--

After spending a few hours at a boujee new cocktail bar to start, Clarke and the rest of the women find themselves in line for the club around 9:30. They’re a little early, but it’s a new place and they want to guarantee they’ll actually get in. There’s already a pretty long line. Clarke steps out of it to get a good look at how far they’ve made it, rubbing her arms over her jacket. It’s a cold night and even the alcohol running through her veins isn’t helping much.

“Remind me, what’s so great about this place?” Clarke asks, stepping back in line with the rest of them.

“It’s this crowded because it’s only the second weekend open,” Maya explains. “It’s opened by this company that owns some really famous clubs in Miami and New York.”

“What’s it called?”

“Mt. Weather,” Harper answers. “The drinks are supposed to be amazing.”

“Mt. Weather sounds so familiar,” Clarke ponders. “Where do I know that from?”

“Beats me, never heard of it,” Luna answers. Clarke had decided to invite her on a whim when she ran into her at work, remembering that she seemed to get along well with everyone at Lucie’s birthday party. 

Even though it looks like they’re charging covers, even for the women, their group doesn’t pay anything to get into the club when they make it to the front of the line 30 minutes later. Emori whispers something into the bouncer’s ear, dragging her hand down his chest. Clarke figures there’s a 50/50 chance regarding whether she was flirting with him or threatening him, but in the end they get in for free with out a problem. Clarke smirks as they walk through the doors. Murphy would be proud. 

Clarke admits that the club looks pretty high class, especially for Arkadia. There’s a blue hue cast over the room with flashing rainbow lights throughout. The center of the club is occupied by a large, completely glass bar with four sides to serve. The walls are occupied by booths that overlook the dance floor and large spiral staircases lead up to a second level, whose balconies overlook the dance floor. The place is already relatively crowded, at least for it being only 10pm. Clarke suspects it will be jam packed in another hour. 

“Alright, this place is pretty cool,” Octavia admits. “Should we steal a booth before it gets too crowded?”

Clarke looks around, noting only two that are still opened.

“Yeah, let’s grab it,” Raven says, heading towards one of them.

Emori doesn’t join them and heads straight to the bar. She comes over to the booth five minutes later with a tray containing a dozen tequila shots. “On me,” she smirks as she sets the tray down on the table, sliding in on the end next to Octavia.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?” Luna asks. 

Harper looks at the tray wearily. Clarke smirks at her, remembering all too well how exhausting it is to have a kid under two. She already looks like she’s fading fast and Clarke guesses she’ll be the first to bow out.

“All I ask is that we all do one round together, I won’t force the second round on anyone...yet.”

Maya rolls her eyes but is the first to pick up a shot. Thankfully, Emori brought over a glass full of lime slices and a small salt shaker. 

“Alright, to Clarke’s 25th birthday,” Raven says smiling, lifting her shot glass. 

“And to Octavia’s return,” Clarke adds, lifting her own.

“And Maya’s engagement!” Harper yells. Clarke smiles fondly at her friend who flashes her new ring with a cheeky smile. Jasper had proposed to her on New Year’s Day. 

“And to everyone getting sufficiently fucked up at this club that’s classier than all of us,” Emori declares. They all giggle before knocking back the shots. 

Clarke squeezes her eyes together as she bites down on the lime. She hasn’t done a shot in...well, she doesn’t even remember. That’s how long it’s been. Even at parties with her friends, she doesn’t drink too much because she’d never want to be too drunk in case Lucie needed her. In fact, she really needs to watch herself tonight. She’s already sufficiently drunk after her wine with Octavia and two cocktails at the previous bar. She makes a mental note that her next drink needs to be water.

“Aw, you know what? We probably should have invited Sasha, guys,” Maya says. “It would have been a good opportunity to kind of integrate her into the group on her own.”

“Damn, I didn’t even think of that. Next time,” Emori shrugs.

Clarke’s eyes drift to Raven, who is suspiciously quiet. She thinks she’s going to stay that way, but she doesn’t. “I don’t know, we don’t even know her that well. Besides, who knows how serious her and Wells are.”

Harper furrows her brow at her. “I mean...I think they’re pretty serious. Besides, how else would we get to know her better?”

“I just mean, she seemed kind of uptight. I don’t know if she would have fun here.”

Octavia shrugs. “You never know, people might surprise you.”

“Well, next time,” Clarke says, attempting to move the conversation forward. “It’s too late now.”

“Well, I have announcement,” Harper declares, slurring her words a little. Apparently Clarke isn’t the only one already affected by the drinks. 

Everyone waits for her to say something. Instead, she picks up another one of the tequila shots and throws it back. She doesn’t bother with lime or salt, which Clarke is a little impressed by.

“Was that the announcement?” Raven laughs, shaking her head.

“No. I just figure that I might as well have a _ very _ good night tonight. Monty and I decided we’re officially going to start trying for another, so no more crazy nights out for a while,” Harper announces, beaming.

Everyone talks over each other as they congratulate her. 

“Jesus, you guys are all going to start popping out babies left and right aren’t you,” Emori grumbles. “I’ll have no one left to drink with.”

Harper rolls her eyes at her and shakes her head, but her smile remains. “Clearly, motherhood has not changed my affinity for drinking with you,” she assures her.

“Nor mine,” Clarke laughs. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll definitely be a single drinking buddy for the foreseeable future,” Raven says. As if for affect, she also takes another tequila shot. 

“What about that guy from New Year’s?” Octavia asks. 

“I mean, we’re not serious.”

“He looked serious about you,” Maya says, clearly baffled by Raven’s comment. Clarke stays quiet, watching Raven carefully and making a mental note that she still needs to hash this all out with her. Raven definitely won’t bring it up on her own.

Raven shrugs. “I just don’t know if I’m into him anymore, that’s all. _ Anyways, _ I believe this was about Harper.”

“So, you guys are trying kind of soon after Jordan,” Octavia prompts. There’s no judgement in her voice, just a blunt curiosity that Harper and Clarke are used to.

“Yeah, I know. Jordan only turned one in September, but we decided we want our kids to be close in age. Since we’re both only children, we decided a long time ago we wanted more than one kid and for them to be close. It took us a few months with Jordan, so we figure they’ll already be two years apart, at least, if we start trying now.”

“Well, we’re all happy for you guys,” Raven smiles, seemingly back to herself again. 

“Thank you!” Harper quips, leaning back in the booth. “Hey, what about you, Clarke?”

“What about me?” Clarke asks, raising her eyebrows. She feels like a deer in headlights as everyone turns their attention towards her. 

“Well, you and Cillian. Are you guys going to try right away? I didn’t know if it was a sooner rather than later situation. You know, so Lucie’s closer in age to her siblings.”

“Oh,” Clarke says dumbly. She remembers her anxiety over the whole idea during Christmas and she’s not really sure she’s gotten past that. “We haven’t really talked about the _ when _,” Clarke says. “Eventually though.”

Without thinking much about it, Clarke reaches for one of the tequila shot and throws it back. She sticks the lime in her mouth and still has it there when she looks up at her friends, who are all eyeing her curiously.

She takes the lime out. “What?” she asks defensively.

“You okay?” Maya asks.

“Nope. Spill, Griffin,” Raven answers before Clarke has a moment to.

“There’s nothing to…” she trails off, looking at Raven. Her and the rest of them are just going to call bullshit on her. They know her too well. “Okay, well I always wanted more kids, but now I’m not sure that I do. I think I do, I just...I don’t know. I’m confused.”

“I mean, it’s a big decision, Clarke. You’re allowed to question it,” Harper says. 

“Have you told Cillian any of this?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t know what to tell him, because I don’t know for certain what I want.”

“You’ve always wanted more kids,” Raven says, voice skeptical.

“You do always fawn over all the kids at the community center,” Luna adds, laughing. “I was a little worried you might kidnap them when I met you.”

Clarke laughs, throwing her discarded lime at Luna. 

“Yeah, I always thought I wanted more. For myself, and also so Lucie’s not an only child. I didn’t like being an only child either. But then Cillian mentioned our future kids on Christmas and I just...I don’t know. I started questioning it.”

Clarke can feel Octavia’s intense gaze on her and she’s afraid to meet it. Most surprising is that Octavia doesn’t say anything. She’s usually pretty vocal about her opinion on everything. 

“Well, you don’t have to figure it out now, but Cillian should probably know what you’re thinking,” Emori says. “So that you’re on the same page.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I know,” Clarke admits.

Silence envelopes the table, as if no one is sure what to say after that, as the music beats loudly around them. 

“So speaking of men,” Luna starts, turning towards Octavia. “Are you going to share why Lincoln is walking with a hop in his step these days?”

“Octavia!” Harper yells. “You’ve been holding back. That’s not like you.”

Octavia laughs heartily. “I know, I know. What do you want to know?”

Octavia dives into the latest about her and Lincoln while Clarke’s thoughts run away from her. She can’t help thinking about the kids issue again, like it’s consuming her. What is going on with her? Maybe she just needs to focus on the wedding before thinking about that. They haven’t even set a date yet. Maybe it’s just too much at once. She reaches for another tequila shot while everyone is still listening intently to Octavia. Thinking she managed to take the shot discreetly, she quietly sets the glass down on the table, only to find Raven giving her a concerned look. She opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by Octavia changing the topic.

“Speaking of dating, my brother is on a date tonight,” Octavia announces.

“You didn’t tell me that,” Clarke blurts, without thinking. Damn it, the alcohol is making her loose-lipped. 

“It didn’t come up,” Octavia shrugs, but Clarke senses something strange in her eyes. A challenge of sorts. 

“Bellamy didn’t tell you?” Emori asks. She sounds both surprised and concerned.

Clarke shrugs, striving to remain aloof. “He probably mentioned it, I must have forgotten.”

“Who’s he going out with?” Maya asks.

“Roma, an old high school fling,” Octavia answers, like she’s gossiping about an acquaintance instead of her brother.

“Oh, wow. I forgot about her,” Harper hums.

“Isn’t that the woman always hitting on him that he’s always avoiding?” Raven asks skeptically, looking around at their circle of friends. “Am I missing something here?”

“I guess he decided to give it a shot,” Octavia shrugs.

“Well I can’t remember the last time he went on an actual date,” Emori says. “Good for him.”

“Who knows, life is weird. Maybe she’ll be the one for him and they’ll be popping out kids soon too.” Maya adds.

Clarke feels like she’s going to throw up, and she’s not certain it’s from the alcohol. Bellamy and Roma having children together? That’s...that’s all wrong. Horrible images flash through her mind. Bellamy and Roma at an ultrasound appointment. Bellamy’s hand on Roma’s swollen belly. Then, the things that she didn’t even get. Bellamy and Roma sharing tender kisses, her stomach between them. Holding hands as they shop for baby items together.

Clarke feels like she’s spiraling. She grabs another tequila shot and downs it quickly without a salt or lime. The burn is the only thing making her feel anchored as their conversation about Bellamy continues. 

“I want to dance,” Raven says abruptly, cutting Octavia off. “C’mon.” Being smack in the middle of them, she shoos half of them out and the rest follow out the other side of the booth.

Clarke sways as she steps out, her head dizzy and the room looking a little blurry around the edges. “You okay?” Emori asks with a laugh, hand on her back. 

“All good.” Clarke forces herself to laugh, grabbing Emori’s hand and leading them onto the dance floor.

Clarke doesn’t know how long they all spin around the dance floor, not a care in the world. Eventually, the room becomes a little sharper again. Clarke can’t bear that at the moment. She needs everything to remain blurry, floating. She can’t stop thinking about her and Cillian’s future kids, of Bellamy’s date. Escaping without the notice of her drunk friends, she slinks away to the bar to order another drink.

“Whiskey ginger,” Clarke tells the bartender, after fighting her way to the front. 

He nods at her, but she calls him back immediately. “Actually, make it a double,” she clarifies. 

Clarke drums her fingers on the bar counter as she waits for her drink, smushed between people on both sides. She wishes she was home. She wishes she was curled up on the couch with her daughter watching some disney movie she secretly still liked. 

She’s lost in her own thoughts when she hears a familiar voice call her name. Familiar, but she still can’t place it exactly. Not until he steps into her place, his hand firm on her arm.

“Clarke Griffin,” Cage Wallace says. “You are the last person I expected here at my club.”

Clarke stares at him for a moment, too dumbfounded to say anything. When she comes back to her senses, she rips her arm out of his grasp.

“Your club,” Clarke smiles coldly, the name dawning on her. “I thought it sounded familiar. Mt. Weather. Your dad’s old company.”

“Generations of family were raised miles away from the base.”

“So you named your night club after it. How touching.”

“Always a delight, Clarke. Your spunk keeps me on my toes.”

“Miss,” the bartender says, sliding her drink across the counter. Clarke is about to pull out her wallet, but Cage puts a hand over his.

“Put it on my tab,” Cage tells the bartender. 

“Yes, Sir,” he answers, moving onto the next customer.

Clarke rips her hand away from his. “That wasn’t necessary, Cage. I can pay for my own drinks.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he insists. 

Clarke should walk away, now that she has her drink, but curiosity gets the best of her. “Why would you open a club in Arkadia anyways? It’s not exactly a hot location.”

Cage shrugs. “Well with the gallery here, I figured we might as well expand. After all…” Cage’s eyes rake up and down her body, slowly and with purpose. A chill runs up her spine. “Although small, this city has quite a view. I’m hoping to spend more time here.”

Clarke glares at him, attempting to look put off despite how scared he makes her feel. 

“I see congratulations are in order,” Cage continues, nodding at her left hand wrapped around her drink. The diamond sparkles under the lights of the club. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “I’ve got to get back to my friends.” She takes a step forward, moving to step around him, when he steps into her path. Cage takes another step forward, boxing Clarke back in, back against the bar. She grits her teeth as he leans into her, lips next to her ear. “I hope he’s good to you. If you ever find yourself...unsatisfied, you know where to find me.”

Just as she’s about to push him away, her disgust at his presence overpowering her fear of him, he steps away from her. She takes a deep breath, attempting to appear unaffected.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Clarke,” he says. Then he disappears back into the crowd without another word.

Clarke shakes her head at the whole interaction before turning around to find the bartender again. “Can I get a tequila shot, top shelf?” she asks. 

The bartender nods, turning to find the bottle. 

“You can put that on Cage’s tab too,” she calls. 

\--∞--

Bellamy’s eyes scan the wine menu, but he’s having a hard time reading it with how nervous he feels. He glances up at Roma, sitting across the small table in the intimate italian restaurant they chose. She’s staring at the wine menu just as intently.

Roma is just as pretty as she was when they were together all those years ago. Sure, he’s seen her since then. He’s seen her often, at school events usually. But he hasn’t really looked at her, hasn’t really wanted to, since before Clarke and Lucie all those years ago. She looks older in some ways- the subtlest of laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and lips, her face made up of sharper angles. But she still has beautiful long, brown waves, bright blue eyes, and bites her bottom lip when she’s reading something. 

“You’re staring,” she says with a smirk, still not looking up from the drink menu.

Bellamy gives her a crooked smile, not bothering to look away. “I know.”

She looks up at him over the menu, apparently surprised at his honesty. “And what do you see?”

Bellamy doesn’t get the chance to answer before the waiter comes over, slicing the moment in half. Bellamy orders them a bottle of merlot, remembering it as Roma’s favorite when they weren’t at a party drinking cheap beer. From the soft smile she gives him, he knows it was the right choice. 

Not having been together since they were 22, nearly a decade ago, they still have a lot to catch up on despite how long they’ve known each other. Over their pasta dishes, they chat easily about the the things they’ve missed. He finds that she’s still easy to talk to and his nerves settle as the night goes on. Bellamy also thinks they have even more in common than they did when they were young. They’re both single parents, technically, although while Bellamy and Clarke are equals in parenting Lucie, Owen’s father split shortly after he turned two. Roma works as a server and bartender at a high end restaurant downtown, but is attending community college three days a week to get a business degree. They end up talking for a long time about that and Bellamy feels inspired. For the first time in a long time, it makes him think about getting a degree again. 

Bellamy glances at his watch once he hands the check back to the waiter, noting it’s nearly 10:30. He’s surprised at how quickly the evening flew by, at how late it is. He’s even more surprised to realize that he doesn’t want the night to end.

“I’m not sure if you’ve got to be home for Owen at a certain time, but...would you want to grab another drink somewhere?”

“Owen’s at my dad’s tonight, I’d love that,” Roma says, smiling at him. 

They walk to another bar Bellamy knows, only a block and a half away. It’s classier than the Dead Zone, a high end cocktail bar rather than a pub. They take a seat at the bar, order drinks, and continue talking. They’re nearly finished with their second drink when his phone rings. 

He pulls it out of his jacket pocket to look at it, apologizing. “Sorry, if it’s-”

“Lucie. I get it, trust me,” Roma says, waving off his apology. 

Bellamy furrows his brow when he sees that it’s Murphy calling. That’s strange. He can’t imagine a scenario where he would call unless there’s an emergency at the bar. Bellamy’s heart skips a beat as he accepts the call and brings the phone to his ear. 

“What’s wrong, Murphy?”

Roma shoots him a concerned look when she hears that. 

“We’ve got uh...a situation at the bar.”

“What the hell does that mean? Is everyone alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Everyone’s fine but...the girls decided to come back here after the club. But Clarke is...listen, man. Clarke’s drunk as hell and we can’t get her to go home without causing a scene.”

Bellamy feels more confused than ever. “What are you talking about?”

“Well Emori wanted to come back here, to see me,” Murphy starts, sounding smug about that. “I guess Raven bailed at the club to go to that guy’s house and Harper went home early too. But the other girls came back with Emori and they can’t get Clarke to go home with them.”

“My _ sister _ can’t get her to leave?” Bellamy is beyond surprised at that.

“I don’t know man, she looks incredibly stressed about the whole thing. Ya know with the PTSD stuff you were telling me…” Murphy trails off. To Murphy’s credit, he seems very nervous, which is a strange for him. He usually doesn’t care enough to be nervous and to a certain extent, revels in chaos like this. But as much as Murphy is...well, Murphy, he cares about the bar and his job as much as Bellamy. 

Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut, pinching his nose in frustration. “Well, can’t you call Cillian? Isn’t this his job? Why are you calling me?”

“I don’t know, man,” he snaps, sounding increasingly exasperated. “Because it’s your bar. Can you just come get her? I’m sorry, but, can you just come?”

Bellamy sighs. “I’m on my way,” he tells him, voice gruff, before hanging up the phone. “I’m sorry,” he tells Roma, waving over the bartender. “It’s Clarke, I guess she’s wasted at my bar, which is…” he shakes his head, pulling out his wallet. “I don’t know what’s going on, I’ve got to go deal with it.”

“That’s alright,” Roma assures him. 

Bellamy looks up at her appreciatively once he hands over his card. “Thanks. I’m sorry. I’ll drop you home first.”

Roma nods, but doesn’t say anything further.

\--∞--

Bellamy pulls up to Roma’s apartment complex, in the same neighborhood they both grew up in. 

“Sorry to cut it short,” Bellamy starts, putting the car in park. “I had a really good time though. Maybe we can do this again soon.” 

Roma looks at him for a few seconds, as if she’s assessing him. She doesn’t answer his question when she speaks. “Bell, do you remember when we broke up the last time? That night?” 

Bellamy is confused at the question, but answers anyway. “Yeah, it was June I think. We were 22.”

Roma shakes her head. “That night, we were on our way to a party, and Clarke called you. She said she drove Octavia’s car into a ditch and asked you to come get them.”

“Oh.” Bellamy scratches his head. “Yeah, I guess that was the same night.”

“You were so worried, rightfully,” she continues. “I’ve known since we were kids how much Octavia means to you. But we got to the party and Miller offered to go get the girls, since he was leaving for some reason. You wouldn’t let him, said you had to get them. I told you they were fine, that Miller would make sure they were okay and you flipped out.”

“Honestly, I don’t really remember-”

“You said to me, ‘Clarke crashed the car. She called, she needs me. I have to make sure she’s alright.’ You specifically were worried about Clarke, said that _ she _ needed you, not _ they _ needed you.”

“Well yeah, Roma. Because she was the one who was driving, I knew she’d be shaken up.”

“Yeah, and if that was one time, I would believe you. But that was the third or fourth time that month alone that something _ Clarke _ related had come between us. Clarke was upset over a girl, so you were staying in with her and Octavia. Clarke needed a ride home from a party. One that Octavia wasn’t even at, to be clear. _ Clarke _.”

Bellamy’s not even sure what to say. He doesn’t really remember it like this. “I...I was looking out for them,” he tries, but he knows it sounds hallow.

“The reason I broke it off, was because I accused you of putting Clarke before me, of having feelings for her. Which, I know was immature. But I was young, insecure and jealous. If your response was any different, I probably would have taken it back. But your response was, ‘Clarke is in high school. That’s insane.’ You didn’t deny it, Bell. You just made it clear you didn’t think you _ should _ like Clarke, not that you didn't like Clarke. You weren’t willing to face it.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Roma, I didn’t-”

“Bell, stop,” she cuts him off, briefly placing her hand on his cheek. “We had a really good thing, and after time passed, I regretted breaking it off. I convinced myself that because all these years had gone by and you never got together, that I must have been wrong back then. I thought we could start over. But I wasn’t wrong then, and I’m not now. You’re still…” she trails off. “I’m glad we did this, and I did have fun catching up with you, Bellamy. But I think...I think this was closure, not a new beginning.”

“I don’t have feelings for Clarke.” It’s all Bellamy can manage to say, even though it’s a lie. But it’s a well rehearsed lie, one he thought he could sell. 

Roma just stares at him again, before leaning in to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I hope you guys figure things out. I don’t deserve to be second best, and I know you know that.”

Bellamy doesn’t respond before she climbs out of his truck, walking away from him. He throws his truck in drive more aggressively than necessary. 

“Fuck!” he screams once he’s on the road again. “Fuck you, Clarke! Fuck you,” he grumbles. 

\--∞--

Murphy’s head immediately pops up to look at him when Bellamy walks into the bar, as if he’d been watching the door for him. He nods towards the pool table, where Clarke is leaned over it, stick in hand and giggling like a school girl. She appears to be playing with two other guys he doesn’t recognize. 

Bellamy walks over to Murphy instead of her. “Pour me a shot of jack,” Bellamy commands. Murphy raises his eyebrows at that, but does as he’s told. Bellamy quickly takes the shot and looks back over at Clarke. Before he can ask Murphy what’s going on, he takes note of his sister. She’s sitting at the other end of the bar alone, sipping on what he assumes is a water. She looks exhausted. Bellamy walks over to her, without another word to Murphy.

“What the hell happened, O?” he asks. “She never gets out of control.”

“I don’t know!” Octavia yells, shocking Bellamy. “I haven’t been here, Bell. I don’t know what the hell Clarke is or isn’t. All I know is that she’s drunk out of her mind and keeps making a scene anytime we try to pull her away from the pool table and her new friends. I sent the rest of the girls home, she’s not listening to anyone anyways.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, I’ve got it, O. Go home.”

“You sure?” she asks, hesitant despite her clear frustration. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he assures her, patting her shoulder before walking towards Clarke.

“Bellamyyyy!” Clarke slurs when he walks up to them. She’s wearing a cheeky smile, as if she knows something that he doesn’t. 

“C’mon, Clarke. I think you’ve had enough.”

Her eyes turn from mischievous to malicious in a second. 

“You know what? I think you’re right. I think I have had enough. Enough of this _ bullshit _. Why don’t you leave me be?”

Bellamy shakes his head, rolling his eyes at her. He walks around the pool table closer to her.

“Hey, hey,” one of the guys says. “She doesn’t want to go anywhere with you.”

Bellamy smiles coldly at them. “I’m Bellamy Blake, the owner of this bar. If you ever want to drink here again, I suggest you fuck off.”

The guys look taken aback by his bluntness, but to their credit, walk away.

“Why do you have to ruin all my fun?” she yells, scowling dramatically at him. 

“C’mon, Clarke. I’m only going say this once more.”

“Or _ what _ ? What’s _ Bellamy _ gonna do about it?”

Bellamy grinds his teeth in frustration before taking a step towards her and throwing her over his shoulder in one fell swoop. 

“Bellamy Blake, you _ asshole _,” she yells, louder than before. She pounds her fists against his back as he walks towards the door to the stairs to his apartment. 

At this point, a lot of the bar has quieted, Bellamy and Clarke having drawn their attention. Several sets of suspicious eyes glance towards him, the guy with a wasted girl thrown over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, she’s his, uh...person,” Murphy announces loudly, in an attempt to reassure them. 

Clarke continues to pathetically punch his back and kick as Bellamy carries her up the stairs with little effort. He should have called Cillian. Everything Roma said was right. So what if Murphy called him first? Bellamy could have easily called her fiance to come get her and then continued his date with Roma. He’d probably be having sex with her right about now, but that’s not even why he’s mad. He was actually having a good time with her, _ connecting _with her, and this is where he chose to be instead. 

So why didn’t he call Cillian? Probably a lot of reasons, he thinks. As mad as he is at Clarke at the moment, he didn’t want Cillian to see her at her worst like this. As mad as he is, he still thinks it’s his responsibility to take care of her. Or maybe because, in spite of how mad he is, he still _ wants _ it to be his responsibility to take care of her.

He doesn’t put her down as he unlocks the door, not confident that she wouldn’t run back downstairs. Thankfully, by the time he gets into the apartment, the fight in her seems to have drained.

Bellamy sets her down on the kitchen island. “Stay,” he says gruffly. To his surprise, she does as she’s told. 

“You’re such a buzzkill, Bell,” she slurs, giggling before she gets to his name.

“Yup,” he says shortly, getting her a glass of water. “Drink,” he commands, handing her the glass. Once again, she surprises him by doing what she’s told. He takes a moment to really look at her. She’s wearing tight black pants with black stilettos, a black spaghetti strap tank top that’s too generous with her cleavage for his liking. Especially with the way she’s sitting hunched over on the counter. Her eye makeup is a little smudged under her eyes, although not terribly so, and her blonde waves are a little frizzy.

Clarke gulps down the water, holding the glass with both hands like a child as she swings her legs. Bellamy stands a foot away from her, arms crossed.

“Done,” she declared proudly, like she’s beat him in a game. He fills up her glass again and hands it back to her.

“You don’t need to chug it,” he clarifies, worried that will just make her sick. “Just- just drink it.”

“Yes, Sir,” she giggles, taking another gulp. Apparently she forgot she’s mad at him for killing her fun.

“Bell, I _ neevverrrrr _ drink this much,” she slurs before taking another sip.

“Trust me, Princess. I’m aware.” Bellamy tenses as soon as the old nickname slips off his tongue and is relieved she’s apparently too drunk to take note of it. He hasn’t used that nickname in many years, not since he was intentionally trying to piss her off. Not since...not since that other night. 

“I’m only 24,” she says with a shrug. “I’m allowed to get drunk, I didn’t go to real college.”

“You’re 25 now,” he corrects her, although it doesn’t really matter.

“Semantics,” she waves him off dramatically. Her whole body tilts to the side as she does, causing her to nearly fall off the island. Bellamy catches her around her waist just in time, setting her upright again. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m not allowed to have fun. We have Lucie, so I’m not allowed anymore.”

“Didn’t stop you tonight,” Bellamy grumbles.

“Our Lucie,” Clarke giggles, ignoring his comment and taking another sip of water. “Oooops.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her. 

“She was an oops,” Clarke whispers, as if her teen pregnancy is a secret. Bellamy doesn't respond.

Clarke sighs. “I miss her. Don’t you miss her, Bell?”

“Of course I do, Clarke.” He rolls his eyes, affection for her slowly corrupting the anger he’s trying to hold onto. 

“Isn’t she cute? She’s the best one.”

Bellamy’s not sure what the best one means, but he agrees with her anyways. “I know, the very best, Clarke.” His anger is exponentially fading. Try as he might, Clarke is kind of adorable like this. He’ll give her hell tomorrow, but it’s not like it’s worth his time to yell at her now. Especially since she’s finally behaving and he doesn’t want to do anything that would cause her to throw a tantrum.

Clarke yawns widely, setting the empty glass down beside her. 

“Did you eat tonight?” he asks.

Clarke just shrugs, as if that’s a sufficient answer. Bellamy rolls his eyes again, taking the water glass to fill up for a third time. Once he hands it back to her, he moves to the other side of the island and takes out his frying pan. Then he goes over to the fridge for bread, cheese, and butter.

They’re both quiet as Clarke sips her glass of water and Bellamy begins making her a grilled cheese sandwich. So many conflicting emotions tear him up from the inside out. He’s so damn angry at her. _ Genuinely _ angry at her. To get this drunk, he has no idea what she was thinking. Not the mention at the bar he owns. Then, as Roma pointed out, this is apparently the second time she’s the cause of them not working out, although he supposes that isn’t really Clarke’s fault. Those were _ his _ feelings and choices that caused that, not hers. But he lets himself feel angry at her for them anyways, at least for tonight. He’s angry at her in that ancient, sacred way that Bellamy and Clarke used to be angry at each other. She’s just a damn pain in his ass.

But then the other part of his heart tugs at him. The part that just fucking loves her, simple as that. Good and bad, mess or not. The part that wants to take care of her when she’s at her worst. The part that is genuinely worried about what caused her to become her worst tonight. The only thing he’s certain of is that Clarke Griffin can make him feel the most of anything, no matter what the emotion is.

“You’re a real dick, Bell,” Clarke says abruptly, just as he’s setting the grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate. 

“I know,” he tells her, handing her the plate. He does know. She’s probably referring to his behavior that started all of this on New Year’s, in which he most certainly was a dick to her for no reason. He knows he needs to talk to her about it, to apologize. But that requires giving her a reason for acting like he did, and he’s not sure how to do that without revealing himself to her. 

Bellamy gets himself a glass of water as Clarke eats her sandwich. Once more, she tilts sideways like she’s about to fall over, and Bellamy steadies her. When her sandwich and third glass of water are gone, he hands her a fourth glass with some advil. She doesn’t question it, just takes it without a word. 

Bellamy tells her to finish her fourth glass of water, but about halfway through it, she begins to fall asleep sitting up on the counter. 

“Alright,” he tells her, taking the glass from her hand before she drops it. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Clarke just shakes her head at him.

“No?” he asks in disbelief, at the girl who can barely keep her eyes open.

“I’m staying here,” she explains, like it makes total sense.

Bellamy rolls his eyes at her, probably for the tenth time tonight, before scooping her up off the counter. Despite her earlier protests, she doesn’t fight him as he carries her bridal style to his bedroom and sets her down on the bed. 

Bellamy sits down on the bed next to her and begins to take off her heels. He doesn’t know how she managed not to break her ankle in these tonight, given the state she’s in. 

“It’s because she looks like you,” Clarke murmurs, eyes closed. 

“What’s that, Clarke?” he asks, working on her second heel.

Clarke’s eyes pop open again, looking at him curiously. “She’s cute because she looks like you,” she repeats. She reaches up to run her fingers through his curls and out of his face. 

Every muscle in his body tenses at the gesture, but she simply lets out a huge yawn and drops her hand, apparently completely unaware of how much she affects him. Bellamy stands, needing the distance between them, and rummages through his drawers for something Clarke can wear. He finds an old flannel that’s big on him and should go down to Clarke’s knees.

“Here,” he says, tossing it on the bed next to her. She opens her eyes again, looking up at him.

“I don’t want to,” she tells him defiantly. 

“Clarke, you don’t want to sleep in that. You won’t be comfortable.”

Clarke sits up slightly, like it’s a great effort. “Help me.” 

Before he can answer, she pulls her tank top over her head. Bellamy quicky turns around. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Clarke laughs. Bellamy doesn’t say anything or turn around. “Pull them off,” she mumbles, a moment later.

Bellamy cautiously turns around, finding Clarke in the flannel with her shirt and bra discarded on the bed. He assumes she’s talking about her tight black jeans, which she’s pulled down to her thighs but seems to be struggling with. 

Bellamy sighs, deciding that this will all go quicker if he helps her. He sits down on the bed next to her again and pulls her pants the rest of the way off, Clarke nearly kicking him in the process. As Bellamy collects her clothing to put on a chair in his room, Clarke pulls back the blankets and climbs under them. 

He can’t help but walk over to her once more, rubbing circles on her back in a comforting gesture. “Get some sleep, Clarke,” he whispers.

“I don’t want it to be with anyone else, Bell,” she mutters, eyes closed and barely intelligible. “Ours are perfect.”

“Okay,” he agrees, although he’s not sure what she’s talking about. _ She _ probably doesn’t even know what she’s talking about.

“Okay,” she mimics. Eyes still closed, he watches as her lips break into a small smile. 

“Night, Clarke,” he says, forcing himself to stand and step away from her. He shuts off the light and closes the door behind him.


	14. I Hate You, But I Was Just Kidding Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Song title from "Before You Go" by Lewis Capaldi

**~ 6 ½ Years Ago**

On Wednesday afternoon, the day after his first doctor’s appointment with Clarke, Bellamy parks his car on a side street in downtown Arkadia. The area seems familiar to him but he can’t think of why that would be. He rarely spends time in this part of the city. Using google maps on his phone, he walks a few blocks until he reaches the Drop Ship, the bar he’s interviewing at. It’s only when he’s standing outside of its entrance does it dawn on him.

_ Well shit _ , he thinks. He’s standing outside of the same damn bar he got kicked out of last New Year’s Eve. Bellamy glances at the curb on his right, the same one he was sitting on when Clarke called. When all of this started.

Bellamy hadn’t even realized it was the same bar when he applied. Hell, Miller had told him where and when to be that night. He’d never gone before that night and never after that night, for obvious reasons. The name didn’t stick with him and he never gave it much thought after getting kicked out.

He hesitates, stepping back to avoid a passerby walking down the street as he tries to decide if it’s worth it to go in. They’re going to take one look at him and realize they threw him out last year. Still, he didn’t see a lot of other bartending postings at anywhere decent. Maybe they won’t even remember him. It  _ was _ a while ago and people probably get kicked out of the bar all the time. In the end, it’s the thought of his kid that convinces him it’s worth a shot. He needs the money and the worst they can do is reject him, which is better than him not trying. Bellamy takes a deep breath, pushes his doubt aside, and walks in.

He blinks a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the dingy room. It’s not exactly dark but the windows don’t offer much natural lighting and the lights are too dim for the lack of daylight. He stops short when he sees him. 

John Murphy, of all fucking people, is standing behind the bar unloading a crate of beer, a dish rag thrown over his shoulder. Bellamy suddenly remembers how he found it so strange that only he was kicked out, despite the fact that it was Murphy who threw the first punch. It all makes sense to him now.  _ He fucking works here _ . 

Murphy looks up at Bellamy, finally taking note of his arrival. Bellamy shakes his head at him before he can say anything, throwing his hands up in mock defense. “Don’t worry, I was just leaving,” snaps, unable to keep the sarcastic bite from his tone as he turns back towards the door.

“And to think I recommended you for this job. This won’t look good for me, Blake.” Despite that his tone is somehow both aloof and sarcastic, and the fact that Murphy doesn’t seem to really be protesting his departure, it makes Bellamy stop in his tracks.

“And why the hell would you do that?” Bellamy asks, turning back around. It’s curiosity more than anything that keeps him from leaving.

Murphy just shrugs lazily, continuing to unload the beer without looking up at Bellamy. “Well you were Mr. Hot Shot in high school and I remember you had a million jobs or something.  _ Very _ hard worker,” Murphy mocks, smirking as he finally looks up at him. “Figured that meant you could talk to people and weren’t too lazy.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Good bartender qualities,” Murphy clarifies. 

Bellamy shoots him a disbelieving look. All that may be true, but that’s no reason for Murphy to recommend him. Murphy must realize he’s calling BS before Bellamy even opens his mouth. “Alright fine. Maybe now we call it even for New Year’s.”

“I didn’t think you considered it uneven.”

“Yeah, well. I may be an asshole, but I try not to be a total dick most of the time.”

Bellamy still doesn’t say anything.

“Got dumped,” Murphy continues. “Was looking for someone to punch and you fit the bill. If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not going to get one.”

Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to respond before the bar manager comes out of her office. She’s a bit terrifying, if he’s being honest. An Asian woman with a harsh cheekbones and the tips of her hair dyed blonde, she’s wearing a tight leather skirt and black crop top, fishnets and combat boots. 

“Bellamy?” She asks. 

Bellamy nods, shooting Murphy one more skeptical look before he follows her back into the office.

\--∞--

The week that Bellamy joins Clarke at her 20 week doctor appointment is the week she finally comes clean to the rest of her friends. It feels like the last piece of truth that makes the pregnancy a final reality. She decides to text them all in one go so that she doesn’t have to repeat the story four times over, but knows that each of them will end up calling her anyways. And they do call her, one by one. It’s a little exhausting, having to answer the same questions over and over again. But it’s also refreshing, a relief, to be honest with all of them. For the first time in months, no matter how far away they are, she feels like she finally has her friends back. 

With that behind her, Clarke finally starts thinking about her future in earnest. She considers taking a few online classes but her parents convince her it won’t be worth it if she isn’t focused on them. When they point out that the final exams for those courses would take place right around the time of her due date, it brings her back to reality. She’s been thinking of the birth as this far away event, but when she considers it’s only a semester’s length of time, she panics a little. It’s what causes her to splurge at the bookstore on every pregnancy and parenting book they have to offer. She knows she has her parents, and Bellamy too, but the last thing she wants is to feel like her parents are raising the baby instead of her. 

Still, as everything begins to move forward, it’s her relationship with Bellamy that seems...stuck. It’s clear neither knows how to act around the other, like they’re engaging in some stilted, transactional form of dating. All of the awkwardness, none of the excitement or romance. Well, maybe there’s a little excitement on her end, but it’s unintentional. In spite of that, or maybe because of that, she feels the need to keep him at arm’s length. For his part, he remains polite and nice, but he’s  _ too _ nice. It isn’t the Bellamy she knows, the Bellamy she likes. He walks on eggshells around her, nothing like the guy she grew up with, the guy who teased her and challenged her. He feels like a stranger to her. A random guy who knocked her up at a party. Maybe her lie to her parents was more true than she realized. 

So as the weeks go by and they slide into September, that’s how they remain. Partners of sorts, but professional ones. They keep each other updated on things. He lets her know when he returns to Sacramento to move his stuff, how he got a job at some bar downtown called the Drop Ship, and sends her both his work schedules. Her parents still seem less than pleased with him, but she can tell her mom is at least trying. 

Amidst all this, Clarke hears her best friend’s voice in her head.  _ You two better get your shit together fast or this whole thing will be a mess.  _

Clarke is reading a chapter on childbirth when she hears her mom calling from the kitchen. She lets out a sigh and tries to rid her mind of the disturbing imagery that the chapter conjured. Maybe it would be better to go into this whole thing blind and ignorant. 

“Coming!” Clarke calls, not yet moving from her spot on the couch where she’s set the book face down over her belly. She’s not  _ that _ big yet, but at about 23 weeks, it definitely feels like more and more of a chore doing things like...well, like getting off the couch.

She gives herself another moment before hoisting herself up and padding into the kitchen. Her parents are seated at the island with mugs of coffee, a third mug presumably set down for her. 

“Decaf,” her mom says, handing her the mug as her dad sets down the Sunday paper.

“Why does this feel like an intervention,” Clarke sighs, sitting down and taking a sip of coffee nonetheless.

“Not an intervention, just an idea,” her dad tells her. 

Clarke raises her eyebrows expectantly at them.

“We were thinking we could have Bellamy over for dinner sometime this week. Whenever he has a day off of work.”

Clarke’s eyebrows remain raised. “So dad can finish the job and bury him out back?”

“Clarke, that’s exactly why we should get to know Bellamy. We can’t leave things as is.”

Clarke shifts her attention to her dad, the bigger problem. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior, sweetheart,” he promises. 

“So you’ll apologize?”

“We’ll see.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Clarke-” her mom starts.

“Fine, I’ll ask if he wants to throw himself to the wolves,” she relents with a sigh, climbing off the stool and taking her mug with her. “But it’s up to him.”

\--∞--

Clarke goes up to her room an hour later, fidgeting with her phone. She could just text him, but it somehow feels strange to her that it’s the only way they’ve communicated since her doctor’s appointment. 

They can’t do this when the baby is born, she reasons. Well, maybe she also wants to hear his voice. She shakes her head, pressing send on his number before she can talk herself out of it.

Bellamy picks up after only two rings. “Clarke? Everything okay?”

“Hey to you too.”

She hears him let out a light laugh. “Sorry, hi. What’s up?”

Clarke bites her bottom lip, hesitating. She’s simply relaying a message from her parents, an invitation which could be hell for Bellamy, and yet it feels oddly similar to asking him on a date. 

“Uh, so my parents wanted me to ask if you would come over for dinner sometime this week.” She cracks her knuckles one at a time as she waits for a response.

“Yeah, definitely. That sounds good. When?”

“Are you sure? You can say no, you don’t have to come.”

“Do...do you want me to say no?” he asks, voice now uncertain.

“No, no,” she assures him. “I just didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Well it would probably be best if our kid’s grandparents don’t hate me. This seems like a step in the right direction.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she answers without thinking, chewing on a hangnail on her thumb.

“That sounds promising.”

“No, sorry, yes, I’m sure it’ll help,” she assures him, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity.

“When do they want to do dinner?”

“Oh, we can plan it around your work schedule. When are you free?”

“Uh, one sec.”

Clarke hears him set down the phone and begins pacing as she waits for him to return. Her free hand moves over her belly, a nervous habit these days.

“Wednesday?”

“Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Great.” 

There’s an awkward beat when neither of them says anything further. 

“Well, okay. I’ll see you then I guess,” Clarke finally says. 

She’s about to hang up when she hears him speak again.

“Sorry, what?”

“I just- I asked how you were doing.”

“Oh. I’m good. Everything is good with the baby.”

There’s silence over the line again and Clarke wonders if he’s waiting for her to say something else. She’s not sure what that’s supposed to be. 

_ I don’t know how to do this _ , she thinks, biting at her thumb again. 

“Okay, good,” Bellamy finally answers, his tone a bit short. Maybe she’s just imagining that. “So, just let me know what time Wednesday and I’ll see you then,” he adds.

Bellamy hangs up before she can respond and Clarke lets out a sigh of relief that the conversation is over. She lies down on her bed and watches the blades of her ceiling fan spin for a few minutes before picking up her phone again.

** _Clarke: _ ** _ So, my parents are having Bellamy over for dinner on Wednesday. Meet the monsters-in-law? _

** _Raven: _ ** _ Haha yikes. Maybe for the best though? _

** _Clarke: _ ** _ I’ll let you know Thursday if that’s true _

** _Raven: _ ** _ Well, want a buffer? Your parents love me _

** _Clarke: _ ** _ Haha yeah they might order a swap soon _

** _Raven: _ ** _ For real though, I could come to dinner _

** _Clarke: _ ** _ Is this an excuse for you to meet Bellamy and interrogate him with my parents? _

** _Raven: _ ** _ Half right. An excuse to meet Bellamy, silently analyze him on my own, and distract your parents from their disdain for him with my beauty and wit _

** _Clarke: _ ** _ Deal _

\--∞--

“Are you sure I shouldn’t wear a tie?” Bellamy asks, tearing the kitchen apart in search of his keys. When he turns around, his mom is dangling them in front of him.

He sighs, catching them when she tosses them to him. 

“You’re going to dinner, not the prom,” she laughs. “The flowers are plenty. Just be yourself.”

“Myself to the Griffins is the man they entrusted their daughter with, who proceeded to get her pregnant,” he huffs. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice more serious as she grabs his arm. “Just give them time, they’ll come around. In the meantime, just focus on you and Clarke. That’s what’s most important.”

“I don’t think that’s going any better. She’s short with me, and distant. I can’t seem to get through to her, but I’m afraid I’ll only make it worse if I push her. She’s stubborn as hell and not exactly an open book.”

“Then don’t push her. Bell, honey. Trust me. Be yourself, keep doing what you’re doing. They need time.  _ You _ need time.”

“Alright, I’m going to be late,” he says, pulling away from her. He straightens the collar of his light blue button up and wipes his palms on his black slacks before grabbing the small bouquet of flowers he picked up after Clarke insisted he didn’t need to bring anything. 

“Good luck, hon,” his mom calls to him as he walks out the door. He’s probably going to need it.

During the ten minute drive to Clarke’s house, in an attempt to calm his nerves about seeing her parents for the first time since he was being slammed against a door, he reminds himself over and over again that it’s a good sign they invited him. This is clearly an olive branch. Surely they wouldn’t invite him over just to scream at him more. Well...no. No, they wouldn’t do that.

Deep breaths, he reminds himself as he pulls into her driveway. Deep breaths, he thinks as he walks up to her door. 

About thirty seconds after he rings the doorbell, Clarke opens the door. She looks beautiful, dressed in a long sleeve maroon cotton dress that cinches slightly at her ribs, paired with sheer black tights and black ankle boots. Her bump protrudes clearly under the thin material of the dress. The sight of it sends warmth flooding through his stomach. 

“Hi,” she greets, tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s down instead of in its usual half-do. 

“Hey. I brought-” he starts to tell her, lifting the flowers. 

“You can’t bring these in,” she cuts him off, snatching them from him and throwing them in the bushes next to the door. 

She must read his bewildered face, his mouth slightly agape. “My dad will make fun of you and complain you’re trying too hard,” she explains.

“Isn’t that the point?” he asks as she pulls him into the house.

“Just trust me,” she murmurs. Without another word, she starts walking towards the back of the house. Bellamy follows her closely. He’s never been in her house with the exception of the day he found out about the pregnancy nearly a month ago, so he has no idea where she’s leading him until he walks into a huge kitchen with marble countertops and white cabinets. It’s beautiful but he feels like there’s something missing. It’s cold.  _ Soulless _ , he thinks. Not where he expects an artist would have grown up.

Abby and Jake are both cutting up vegetables at the island with glasses of red wine next to them. What surprises him is the third person in the kitchen, a pretty brunette that looks to be about Clarke’s age cutting up some mushrooms next to Clarke’s dad. 

Clarke clears her throat upon entering and all three heads pop up in unison. It would be comical if he weren’t so nervous. The brunette looks like she’s assessing him just as much as the Griffins are and he’s not sure what to think about that.

“Bellamy, welcome,” Abby says, the first to speak. Her tone is much warmer than when he last saw her at the hospital, so there’s that at least. 

“Bellamy,” Jake greets, nodding at him. He doesn’t offer anything more than a tight-lipped smile.

“Dad?” Clarke asks, but it sounds more like a warning than a question.

“I wanted to say, I’m sorry for how I reacted before. It was inappropriate,” Jake says, as if rehearsing a practiced line. 

Bellamy shakes his head. “It’s really- it’s fine. I understand.”

“You understand? So you agree that you’ve done something wrong?”

“Jesus, Dad. Knock it off,” Clarke scolds. Bellamy just remains silent, fighting the urge to pull his hair out. 

“He’s kidding,” Clarke assures him. 

“Sorry. Clarke doesn’t like my jokes, I was only kidding,” Jake assures him. But something in the way he’s looking at Bellamy makes him think he probably wasn’t. Bellamy lets out an uneasy laugh, trying to play along anyways.

“Oh, and this is my friend Raven,” Clarke introduces, turning her attention to the brunette. 

If Bellamy weren’t distracted by everything else, he’d be asking how Clarke has a friend he’s never heard of. Raven shakes his hand, smiling at him, and Bellamy suddenly feels overwhelming relief that she’s here. It’s not like he knows anything about her, but she’s not a Griffin, so he’ll take it.

“Bellamy,” he introduces himself, even though she already knows that. “Do you guys need anymore help?” he asks, turning his attention back to her parents.

Abby shakes her head. “We’re just finishing up the salad. Why don’t you three go sit down and we’ll be out in a minute.”

Clarke leads them to their dining room and gestures for Bellamy to sit next to her on one side of the table while Raven takes a seat across from them. He can only hope it’s Abby that sits at the head of the table closest to him, but somehow he doubts that will happen.

A few minutes later, Abby and Jake bring out a pan of lasagna and a bowl of salad. As expected, Jake sits down next to him, setting down his glass of wine.

“Oh, did you want a glass, Bellamy?” he asks, as if he forgot to offer. Bellamy’s not sure if it’s a test to measure his responsibility or a dig at the fact that he’s two years past 21 while his daughter is still underage. Probably both.

“Oh thanks but I’m good, Sir. Driving home,” he explains.

“Jake,” he corrects him with a smile, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

It’s quiet for a few minutes while everyone passes along the salad bowl and serves themselves the lasagna.

“So how is Octavia doing?” Abby asks. He knows she must already know given that Clarke and Octavia are speaking frequently again, but he appreciates that she’s throwing him a bone. 

“She’s doing really good. She’s finished training and is deploying next month, so we’re a little nervous but happy for her.”

“Deploying to where?”

“Germany first.”

Abby smiles at him. “That’s wonderful. She’ll be able to see the world from a whole new perspective.”

Bellamy knows Abby didn’t mean it as a pointed remark, but he still feels a fresh wave of guilt wash over him when he thinks of how that’s no longer an option for Clarke. He wonders if she would have studied abroad while at Princeton. Probably. She probably would’ve gone to Paris, would have loved to see the Louvre. 

“It is,” he agrees. 

The table falls silent after that, the sound of clinking silverware filling the room. 

“Did you have work today?” Clarke asks him, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, I did. Finished up at 4.”

“Where do you work, Bellamy?” Jake asks. 

“I work at a private security firm, rotating as a security officer in different office buildings.”

Jake nods but doesn’t say anything else.

“He bartends too, and works construction jobs sometimes,” Clarke adds, as if that will impress anyone. Still, he can tell she’s making an effort to talk him up and something warm fills him at the thought of her intention.

“So how do you two know each other?” Bellamy asks Raven, curiosity getting the best of him. 

“Well, you know the whole Finn debacle?” Raven asks. 

“I do,” Bellamy nods. He has to bite down a smile at the strange memory of Clarke giggling hysterically in his car, drunk with smeared makeup, him bloodied and bruised. 

“Well I was the other girlfriend,” Raven tells him casually. He chokes on the water he’s sipping and suspects that was by design.

“Oh,” is all he can muster once he clears his throat. When he glances at Clarke, he sees her biting back a giggle, clearly amused by his reaction. He knows the look from when her and Octavia would attempt to prank him. They’re terrible liars, the both of them.

“And then,” Raven continues. “I ran into her in the 5th Ave drug store trying to decide which pregnancy test to take. Took her under my wise wing, and the rest is history,” Raven smiles, clearly finding their origin story charming.

“I’m glad Clarke had someone there for her,” he answers. He knows it isn’t the reaction Raven was going for. She probably genuinely thought it was funny, but none of this is funny to him. 

He doesn’t think it’s funny that Clarke was scared and alone, dealing with this huge thing that he should have been able to take responsibility for. He doesn’t think it’s funny that Clarke kept this from him for so long. Clarke at a drugstore picking out a pregnancy test while he’s hundreds of miles away is just plain sad.

“Yeah, who would have thought we’d become friends,” Clarke adds, once the awkward tension settles over the table. Bellamy takes a bite of his salad. 

The rest of the dinner is generally uneventful. There are more awkward moments as everyone makes small talk while trying not to directly mention the pregnancy, but nothing catastrophic. No one seems set on taking him down or offering any scathing remarks, so there’s that at least. Clarke walks him to the door once they clear the table, after he’s said his goodbyes to her parents and Raven. 

“Thanks for coming,” Clarke tells him, opening the door. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I think it helped with my parents.”

“Did it help with us too?” he asks. 

“With us?” she repeats, clearly confused.

“Nevermind,” he says quickly, regretting the comment. “I’ll see you next Monday for the 6 month?” he asks, changing the topic before she can press him further.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

Bellamy turns to leave, is halfway out the door when he hears his mother’s voice in his head.  _ Just focus on you and Clarke. That’s what’s most important. _

“Do you want a ride to the appointment?” he offers.

“Uh,” she hesitates. She’s probably trying to think of a viable excuse not to ride with him. 

“You can say no, Clarke,” he assures her, attempting to mask the defeat in his voice.

She must hear it anyways. “No, a ride would be great,” she agrees, tripping over her words a bit. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

When he drives away, he suddenly can’t bear the thought of going home, of his mom asking how dinner went.  _ It went _ , he’ll tell her when she asks. For now though, he drives around aimlessly, wasting gas money he doesn’t have.

With every stupid love song that comes on the radio, he tries desperately not to think of the girl from the diner, or the girl in the pretty blue sundress from the party, or the girl drawing at his kitchen table. He fails because he misses her so damn much, even when she’s standing right in front of him. 

\--∞--

The doorbell rings at the exact moment that Bellamy told her that he would pick her up. 

_ Of course he’s exactly on time _ , Clarke thinks, irrationally irritated. 

She gives herself one last look over in the mirror and pulls her olive army jacket over a flowy gray tank top that she paired with black leggings and white converse sneakers before heading downstairs.

She opens the door to find Bellamy standing there, hands in his pocket, wearing those same damn aviators. “Hi, one sec,” she tells him, running to the kitchen to grab her purse. She feels more flustered than usual.

“You could have just texted, you didn’t need to come to the door,” she tells him once she’s outside, locking the door behind her.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes. 

His tone makes Clarke feel guilty. She meant it as a reassurance, not a scolding. She sighs as she climbs into the corolla. Why is this so hard? She feels like they stumble through every interaction. It never felt this stiff and awkward between them, even when they were fighting. 

“So, have you thought about whether you want to find out the sex today?” Bellamy asks once he turns onto the main road.

“Oh, honestly I’m still not sure.” Why hasn’t she thought about that? All the pregnancy books and parenting books, and she didn’t even make that decision yet. She’s not ready for this.

“Okay, well we can do whatever you decide. No rush,” he assures her, voice soft. There’s something about it that she hates. It makes her feel like she’s talking to a robot, one made to appease her no matter what she says or does. It’s not the Bellamy she knows, the one who pushed her buttons at every opportunity. 

“Well what do  _ you _ want?” she asks.

“What do I want?” he repeats, like he doesn’t understand the question. Clarke rolls her eyes behind her clubmaster sunglasses.

“Yeah, you. Do you want to find out the sex?”

“It makes no difference to me, Clarke.”

“Helpful,” she scoffs.

She senses how he turns to look at her, even as she’s staring out the window. She thinks he might say something or react in any way, but then he shifts his eyes back to the road and they spend the rest of the drive in silence.

\--∞--

In the end, Clarke tells Dr. Jackson that they don’t want to know the sex, at least not today. Clarke can’t help the irritability she wrapped herself in and it’s not the kind of day she wants to remember when she finds out if she’s having a boy or girl. If she even wants to find out. 

They’re mostly quiet as Bellamy drives her home, except for one occasion when he asks her if she’s okay and she snaps that she’s fine. The thunderclouds rolling overhead only add to her sour mood, as if justifying it.

Clarke unbuckles her seatbelt as Bellamy pulls into her driveway, ready to get out of the car as soon as he stops it. 

“Did I do something, Clarke?” Bellamy asks before she can open the door, worry clear in his voice.

_ It’s what you don’t do _ , she thinks. 

“No,” Clarke snaps, but she makes no move to leave the car. Despite her answer, it’s as if her body knows the conversation isn’t over.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice gentle. It sounds like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal and she’s sick of it. She’s sick of him walking on eggshells around her every moment they’re together.

“No, I’m not sure. Because of  _ that _ .”

“Because of what?” he asks, bewildered. His face looks like she responded in another language.

“You treat me like I’m some breakable doll and walk on eggshells around me, it’s infuriating.”

“You’re mad at me for being  _ nice _ ?”

“No, you’re being fake. It’s annoying. You’re so polite and appease me at every turn like I can’t handle anything. I’m not fragile, Bellamy.”

“That’s not why...that’s not it, Clarke.”

“It is, you treat me like a child. You don’t have an opinion on anything because you’re afraid it won’t be the same as mine.”

“I don’t treat you like a child!” His voice is finally rising, betraying his mask of calmness. 

“You do!” she yells back, an octave higher. She can tell she’s hit a nerve, that he’s getting angry.  _ Good _ .  _ Feel angry. Feel angry like I’ve felt since March. It’s about time you realize this isn’t what you want.  _

“Well, excuse me for being nice and trying to appease you. You’ve hardly given me an opportunity to do anything else. Do you really think I haven’t notice how you’ve kept me at arm’s length since I found out?  _ Found out _ , because you didn’t tell me! Who knows what you’ll do the next time I upset you. Last time you kept a pregnancy from me for five months, maybe next time it’ll be our kid you keep from me.”

The words sting. Is that what he thinks of her? That she would use their kid as some kind of weapon or bargaining chip? She expects him to apologize, to shift back into this strange, perfect Bellamy, but he doesn’t. He only grips the steering wheel tighter, staring ahead with his jaw clenched.

“Well, there’s the Bellamy I know. Finally showing your true colors. At least it’s real,” she snaps before getting out of the car. She slams the door harder than the corolla can probably handle. 

When she spares him one last glance before opening the door to go inside, Bellamy is already pulling out of the driveway.

Clarke can’t help but slam the front door too. She wants to throw things, to kick things. She’s so frustrated and she hardly understands why. This isn’t what she wants it to be like. She doesn’t know what she wants.

The silence of the empty house is loud and foreboding in a moment like this, thunder rumbling in the distance. Clarke makes her way to the living room and lays down on the couch, doing nothing but listening to the splatter of rain on the windows as it starts to fall. 

Why did she do that? She was looking for a fight, that much she can admit. She wanted to make him angry like she is. But the thing is, he’s the one who should be angry. She kept this huge thing from him for months and he forgave her like it was nothing. But she can’t even let go of his rejection, of him not wanting her? Something he can’t even help? She’s hardly being fair. Maybe she wanted to force him down to her petty level so she wouldn’t feel so bad about it. 

Maybe it’s true that she’s sick of him walking on eggshells around him, but she could have handled it better. She could have talked to him about it. It’s just that, before his outburst, she had no idea that he was holding onto the same fear of uncertainty and instability. Apparently it thrums through both of them. At least they have that much in common. 

Clarke swallows hard, trying to keep her tears in check. If she lets them go now, she’ll never stop. It must be nearly an hour that she lays there as the sky melts into dusk, sinking deeper into self pity with every passing moment.

But then she feels it. It feels like more than the smaller flutter she’s grown accustomed to, it feels like a real kick. Clarke eyes pop open as she moves her hand under her tank top and presses it against her belly.  _ There _ . She can feel it on the outside now too, just barely, but she can. She thinks of Bellamy asking when he might feel it, how excited he sounded.

_ I’m screwing this up for my kid _ , she thinks.  _ I’m selfish and immature and my kid is going to pay for it if I don’t fix it.  _

Before she can overthink it or talk herself out of it, Clarke heads to the front door, stopping only to grab her keys and slip on a pair of flip flops. She doesn’t think about the fact that it’s now raining steadily until she’s already fully stepped outside. By then, she can’t bring herself to care. She runs to her rover as quickly as she can manage, shivering once she’s inside of it. 

\--∞--

Bellamy tries to push his argument with Clarke to the back of his mind during his shift at the Drop Ship. His tips depend on smiling, on him being charming and just the right amount of flirtatious to the women he’s serving. 

He knows he’s not doing a great job when he grimaces at a woman who sends back an old-fashioned, instead of assuring her that it was no problem at all to remake it with a different bourbon. Nevermind that  _ the woman _ forgot to specify when she ordered. He rolls his eyes once his back is to her.

“Well aren’t you Mr. Sunshine today,” Murphy taunts from where he’s expertly making a Manhattan. 

Bellamy was surprised to realize that Murphy is actually a great bartender. The guy was a total deadbeat in high school, too lazy to show up to class most of the time and always looking for a fight. He was cruel to most, and indifferent at best. It’s strange to see him put effort into crafting a cocktail when he spent his high school years smoking cigarettes under the bleachers. 

Like Bellamy, Murphy is also pretty popular among the female clientele, just in a different way. Where Bellamy is charming, Murphy is the hard to get bad boy. His indifference makes them want him even more. 

“Yeah, feeling as sunny as the weather today,” Bellamy mutters.

“Let me guess. Baby Mama drama?” Murphy asks with a smirk. Okay, he’s still an asshole.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Something like that.”

He made the mistake of telling Murphy the cliff notes version of why he moved back to Arkadia, which was probably a mistake. 

When Bellamy hands the woman her new old fashioned, she signs her receipt and leaves her number at the bottom. Unfortunately her interest in a date didn’t translate into a good tip. 

“Thanks,” he tells her, with just enough sarcasm to leave her guessing as to whether he’s being genuine. He rolls his eyes for a second time when he turns around, just for good measure.

This thing with Clarke is driving him nuts. He doesn’t know how to fix anything between them. He only knows that his outburst made it worse.

\--∞--

Clarke pulls into the Blakes’ driveway just as the rain goes from steady to relentless. She finds a zip-up sweatshirt she left in her car at some point and holds it over her head as she quickly makes her way to the door, but it’s not much help. By the time she’s knocking on the door, she’s pretty much soaked through and through. She’s a mess, to put it lightly. 

Clarke startles when the door swings open to reveal Aurora, rather than Bellamy. 

“Clarke?” Aurora asks, clearly surprised to see her.

Stupidly, it didn’t dawn on her that anyone but Bellamy might open the door.

“Hi, I’m sorry,” she says, her voice cracking. “Is Bellamy home?”

“He’s at work, but get inside,” she commands, shooing Clarke into the house. “You’re soaked to the bone,” she tuts. 

“I forgot he was working, he told me that,” Clarke says, shaking her head at her impulsiveness and wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m sorry, I should have called.”

She suddenly feels awkward standing in front of Aurora when she realizes she hasn’t seen her since Octavia left. Since she dropped the pregnancy bomb on her son. Rain continues to drip down her face, her hair soaked and wet tank top sticking to her protruding belly. 

“That would be a first,” Aurora laughs, referring to the hundreds of times Clarke showed up to their house unannounced. Half the time she didn’t even bother knocking, but things are different now.

Instead of laughing, Clarke’s tears spring to the surface without warning, a sob breaking free from her throat. A sob that was waiting for its moment since Bellamy pulled out of her driveway. 

“Oh, Clarke,” Aurora tries, rubbing her upper arm soothingly. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything is so messed up,” she blubbers. “I don’t- I can’t fix it.”

“Hey, hey,” Aurora hushes her, tucking Clarke’s wet hair out of her face. “C’mon, let’s get you into some dry clothes. I’ll make us some tea and we can talk about this.”

“Okay,” Clarke sniffles, wiping away the mix of rain and tears on her face with the heel of her hand. 

“You go find something dry of Octavia’s and I’ll put the kettle on,” Aurora tells her, voice both commanding and warm. 

Clarke takes a deep breath and nods, following Aurora into the kitchen and then past her towards Octavia’s room. She stops and grabs two towels from the linen closet and quietly closes the door to Octavia’s room. It feels strange to be in her room without her, like she’s standing in a museum. Most of her stuff is still here, but it isn’t the same.

The first thing she does is pull her phone out from where she stuffed it in her bra and uses one of the towels to dry it. By some miracle it appears to be working okay, although she’s not sure that will last. She texts her parents where she is, knowing they’ll be worried to find her missing from the house, especially with the storm. 

After that, Clarke wraps up her hair in one of the towels and starts peeling off her soaked layers until she’s completely naked. She shivers as she dries off, wishing she could take a hot shower, and sifts through Octavia’s dresser to find something to wear. She settles on an old pair of black leggings and a faded maroon Arkadia High crewneck sweatshirt that looks closer to a shade of pink now. It was big enough on Octavia that Clarke remembers her only wearing it to bed, so she thinks it will fit comfortably, even with the bump. Clarke doesn’t bother with a bra, knowing there’s no way that Octavia’s would fit her even if she weren’t pregnant. 

She runs a hand over her belly, thinking about how her baby was moving around in there less than an hour ago. It seems like nothing short of magic and makes her smile, in spite of everything else. This is why she needs to make things right with Bellamy, to put aside her feelings of rejection and let him know her. She doesn’t want to be a selfish mother, to ever put her feelings before her child. 

She pads out to the kitchen in wool socks that she found, hair tousled and damp. She did her best to wipe away her smudged eye makeup but knows she didn’t get all of it. Aurora is just pouring the water into mugs when she walks in. Clarke sits down at the kitchen table, staring out the window to the backyard and watching the lightning flash somewhere in the distance as the rain continues to come down in buckets. 

“I’ve got apple cinnamon or chamomile,” Aurora offers, pulling Clarke back to reality.

“Apple cinnamon is great.” She gives Aurora a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Perfect for this time of year,” Aurora says, joining her at the table. Clarke murmurs a thanks when Aurora slides her the mug. 

“Making me a grandma at 40,” she quips. “I wouldn’t normally allow it but since it’s you, I think we can let it slide.”

Clarke laughs, although it’s a little watery still. It’s hard to lock up the floodgates again once they’ve been opened.

“I’m sorry I kept it from all of you for so long.”

Aurora shakes my head. “You don’t owe me anything, Clarke. We all have our reasons for the choices we make.”

Clarke nods, unsure of what else to say. She wonders what Aurora thinks of her and Bellamy, if she was concerned like her parents or thought it was more than one night. She has no idea what Bellamy told his mom about all this.

“Being pregnant at your age isn’t easy, Clarke,” Aurora continues. “You have to give yourself some credit, give the situation some patience. Everything works out how it’s supposed to.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, after clearing her throat. “You know, I was only 17 myself when I got pregnant with Bellamy. His father was older and stuck around until he was born, but split soon after. Being pregnant at any age is scary, but being pregnant when you’re young, and your relationship with the father feels uncertain...it can be paralyzing. You’re allowed to feel scared, Clarke.”

Clarke quickly wipes at the tears that have trickled down her face without permission. 

“I know that. Or I should know that, rationally. I don’t do well with uncertainty.”

“Well, pregnancy isn’t familiar with rational,” Aurora laughs. 

“I...I got mad at him today for being  _ nice _ to me,” Clarke admits with a laugh, shaking her head at herself. 

Aurora laughs too, her eyes warm as she listens to Clarke. 

“I lost it today, and I could have just talked to him about it, but I pushed him and pushed him. I wanted him to get mad. I think I wanted him to hurt. What kind of person wants something like that,” Clarke murmurs, looking down at the table. 

“A human,” Aurora says, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Maybe the real question is why you feel that way.”

“That’s easy,” Clarke sighs, picking at her nails. “_I’m_ angry and upset. But it’s him that should be angry. I kept this from him and he’s not angry about any of it. He’s just... _ fine. _ ” 

Aurora nods, taking a sip of her tea, but continues to listen. 

“It felt wrong that he wasn’t more angry with me,” Clarke continues. “I think...I think I keep expecting him to remember all the reasons why he should be mad at me. I feel like I’m just  _ waiting _ for him to remember, and then leave. I guess I just didn’t want to wait anymore. If he was going to leave, then I wanted to get it over with.”

“Luckily for you, Clarke, Bellamy isn’t his father. He cares about this baby. He cares about  _ you _ . He always has.”

“I know that, I do. I just...I haven’t been thinking clearly at all. I’m just so anxious about everything. 

“Well, I think there’s someone who can probably relate to that, but I think you already know that. I don’t think you came over here tonight to talk to me,” she laughs. 

Clarke smiles at her. “I’m glad I did though.”

“Sometimes things work out drastically differently than we expect, but they always work out. Sometimes better than we expected or planned for.” Aurora smiles at her like she knows something that Clarke doesn’t. It’s an expression all moms wear well and it makes Clarke feel squeamish.

“I hope so.”

“Well, I have an early shift in the morning so I’m off to bed. Let your parents know you’re staying here tonight, I don’t want you driving home in the storm.”

Clarke nods as Aurora puts her mug in the sink.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” she says, heading towards her bedroom.

“Aurora?”

She turns around, a soft smile on her lips.

“Thank you. For...everything.”

“Clarke, you’ll always have a home here.”

Clarke smiles and looks down at the table until she hears her leave, afraid she might start crying again. She stays at the table for a while as she finishes her tea, just thinking things over. She feels cleansed, in a strange way. It’s not that her feelings for Bellamy have gone away, nor the feelings of rejection. It’s more like an epiphany that their child is more important than any of it. She may never have Bellamy, but she gets to have a piece of him forever. That has to be enough.

When she finally glances at the clock, it’s nearly 9 o’clock. Realizing she never ate dinner, she decides to make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She groans in frustration when she sees that Bellamy still keeps the peanut butter on the upper most shelf. It’s not like she’s around to eat it anymore, it must just be a habit at this point. 

Even pregnant, she still manages to reach just high enough to knock it off the shelf. It drops onto the counter and Clarke catches it just before it hits the ground.  _ Asshole _ , she thinks. But even in her head now, she says it fondly. She misses these stupid games. 

Once she eats and washes her plate and mug, Clarke settles down on the couch in front of the TV. She’s been so tired since she got pregnant that going to sleep at 10pm shouldn’t be a problem. Yet, for whatever reason, she can’t. Maybe it’s because she’s itching to talk to Bellamy, even though she logically knows she’ll never last until he comes home from his bar shift after 2am.

She turns on old Friends reruns and while it’s easy to slip away into a nostalgic space where it’s her and Octavia watching these together, she tries to stay in the present. She runs her hand over her belly and thinks about how she has a future to be excited about. That’s what she’s thinking about when she slips off into the darkness, surrendering to her dreams. 

\--∞--

Clarke wakes when she hears a door open and shut. She can tell that whoever it is, they’re trying to be quiet by gently clicking the door shut. Still, her eyes feel too heavy to open, so she lets herself drift off again.

The next time she wakes up, although she’s unsure if it’s been two hours or two minutes, it’s to Bellamy’s voice. It’s quiet, sounding farther away than it probably is.

“Clarke?” he whispers. Her world remains dark. She doesn’t want to open her eyes, it’s too much. “C’mon, Princess. Let’s get you to bed,” he says, tone more gentle than she knows she deserves. Even in the depths of her sleep, she knows she doesn’t deserve his kindness right now. She hopes their baby has his heart. She hopes their baby has his everything. 

“I’ll stay here,” she murmurs, still unwilling to open her eyes. She’s so warm, so content. Why can’t she just stay?

The only answer she gets is Bellamy lifting her into his arms, taking the throw blanket she was using with them. She should fight him, insist that she’s fine to walk on her own, but she’s so tired of fighting. Instead, in that surreal place between sleep and awake, she lets herself rest her head against Bellamy’s chest as he carries her away. She lets herself breathe him in, lets herself focus on the steady beat of his heart, not so different from their baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. 

It’s only when she feels a bed beneath her does she speak again. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, this time making the effort to open her eyes, even if they are glazed over with sleep. She notices that she’s back in Octavia’s room.

Bellamy lowers to his knees so that he’s eye level with her, shaking his head. He didn’t turn on the lights and he’s all shadows, most of the moonlight coming through the window obscured by the storm clouds. “Me too, but we can talk tomorrow. Go back to sleep,” he whispers. 

When she closes her eyes again, she expects to hear the door shut. Instead she feels the press of his lips on her forehead. It’s more of a graze really, light and quick, over before she can process it. Then the dark swallows her again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, finally were moving into some well-deserved fluff next in the flashbacks :)


	15. All Roads, They Lead Me Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo....guys, so sorry for falling off the publishing schedule. Whoops. Life happened. Anyhow, I edited this with tired and tipsy eyes, so apologies for any typos. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter title is from the underrated T Swift song 'Last Time' which is evidently perfect for these two angsty idiots. Anyone who hasn't seen Miss Americana, even if you're not a Taylor Swift fan, go watch. It's phenomenal.

When Clarke wakes up, she keeps her body perfectly still. Even before she’s opened her eyes, she’s somehow subconsciously aware that she shouldn’t move her body. She’s somehow aware that her stomach is a delicate thing this morning, and that rolling over would almost certainly result in throwing up all the contents of her stomach. 

Taking a few shallow breaths, she decides it’s probably safe to open her eyes. She cautiously opens one before opening the other. Even with the shades down, the outline of light from the sky behind them is harsh enough that she feels it like a dagger to her head. She groans, squeezing her eyes shut again. That was definitely a mistake.

Only after about thirty more seconds of Clarke laying in an unmoving heap on the bed does her brain catch up with the fact that the windows she just saw were definitely Bellamy’s windows. She’s in  _ Bellamy’s  _ bed, under  _ Bellamy’s _ blankets. Still, despite the night being fuzzy at best, to include chunks of missing time, she doesn’t have to roll over to know Bellamy isn’t in the bed with her. She knows she didn’t make  _ that _ particular mistake. But that’s about all she does know. She certainly doesn’t remember with any certainty  _ why _ she’s in Bellamy’s bed instead of her own. Or even instead of Raven’s, or Cillian’s-

Clarke doesn’t have time to contemplate it any longer before she leaps out of the bed at an impressive speed, making a beeline for the bathroom. She throws open the door and barely makes it to her knees before her face is hovering over the toilet and she’s throwing up more than she thought her stomach could even hold. In the midst of throwing up, she only half registers the sound of the shower running and of the shower curtain opening. 

When Clarke finally catches her breath, she looks up through bleary eyes at Bellamy, glaring at her from the shower where he’s holding up the curtain to his chest. He gives the slightest tilt of his head, a frown and entirely unamused expression painted on his face. Water is dripping down everything from his hair to eyelashes. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, too exhausted to say much more. 

She flushes the toilet and folds her arms over it, groaning as she rests her head in her arms. She can’t find it in her to care about how gross that is. At some point, she hears the water shut off and the shower curtain open again. Turning her head slightly and opening the eye not buried in her arm, she watches Bellamy step out of the shower with a towel around his waist. 

“Classy, Clarke,” he mutters, stepping around her to get through the door in a fashion that feels a little too much like someone avoiding dog shit on a sidewalk. 

Clarke doesn’t have time to respond before she’s throwing up again. Once her dry heaving ends and she flushes the toilet, she puts the seat down and resumes her position of holding her head in her arms, arms folded over the toilet. She does feel a lot better after that last round. She doesn’t feel  _ great _ , but now it’s mostly her head and the rest of her body that ache. She’ll take that over nausea any day.

She’s not sure how long she sits there with her eyes closed, but eventually she hears Bellamy walk back into the bathroom. She lifts her head to look at him, even though her head feels like a bowling ball at the moment. To her surprise, he sits down on the floor of the small bathroom, a foot away from her against the wall across from the sink. 

Bellamy hands her a glass of water without a word and she silently accepts it, taking him in as she drinks. He’s changed into a plain white t-shirt and a pair of worn and faded jeans, sipping on a mug of what she assumes is coffee. His feet are bare and he’s wearing his glasses instead of his contacts. 

Clarke sighs, setting down the half empty glass of water on the ground next to her, afraid even water won’t stay down if she doesn’t take it easy. She leans against the doorway next to her, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke starts, running a hand through her tangled hair. Only then does she look down and realize she’s wearing one of his old flannels. She used to steal this one to paint in and there are still speckles of dried paint on the sleeves. “I don’t know...I’m an idiot. I don’t know why I drank that much. I don’t even- the night is blurry.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw. “What do you remember?”

“Well the last thing I remember is sitting on your island, eating grilled cheese…” she ponders aloud. “I called you a dick” she adds, remembering that now too. The fact that she called him a dick serves as reminder that they weren’t on good terms, even before her drunken night here. She had honestly forgot, given her current situation.

“Right,” he confirms, tone short. “That was after Murphy called me to tell me you were belligerently drunk in my bar and wouldn’t go home. After I had to cut my date with Roma short.”

Clarke looks down at her lap, feeling more ashamed than a minute ago, which she didn’t know was possible.  _ Shit _ , she thinks.  _ I’m the asshole _ .

“I’m so sorry, Bell. I was such a mess. I don’t...I don’t know.”

Bellamy bites his bottom lip, taking a moment to think before he speaks. “Well, the dick comment probably still applies, given how I acted at New Year’s. But you’ve probably taken the lead now.”

Clarke closes her eyes, shaking her head at herself, as Bellamy stands up. “Clarke, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but figure your shit out.”

Bellamy’s already out the door by the time his words hit her. The comment feels like a slap to the face and enrages her. Maybe she fucked up last night, but their problems aren’t all on her. She holds her head as she stands, a fresh wave of pain washing over her.

“Excuse me?” she asks, marching into the kitchen after him. He looks up at her from where he’s washing a plate, probably hers from last night, with eyebrows raised. “ _ I _ need to figure my shit out?” she asks, voice raising. Still, it’s hard to feel dignified with caked up makeup on her face, wearing an old flannel that ends at her knees, and breath that tastes like vomit. 

“Are you serious right now?” he asks, bewildered. 

“Yeah, I know I screwed up last night, but don’t act like you weren’t a total dick to me at New Year’s. I was just tying to  _ talk _ to you and you shut me out. Since when do we do that?”

Bellamy shakes his head at her, obscuring his face by turning around to face the sink again. 

“And you were completely weird when we were Christmas shopping, don’t think I didn’t notice that,” she continues, unable to stop herself. 

When he doesn’t say anything further, she groans loudly in frustration before spinning on her heel and marching off to Bellamy’s room. She finds her clothing folded neatly on a chair, which somehow pisses her off even more, and quickly changes back into them. Bellamy doesn’t turn around or say another word when she leaves, slamming his apartment door behind her. 

\--∞--

It’s only when Clarke gets outside does she realize that she didn’t drive to the Dead Zone. Thankfully her phone is still decently charged. There’s a slew of text messages she’ll have to address later, but she ignores them to open up the Lyft app, tears beginning to stream down her face as she requests the ride. 

She scrolls through her messages, all from the girls who are asking if she’s alright. Raven has texted her multiple times, having missed the show apparently. Not that Clarke remembers. Cillian also texted her.

_ Hope you had a good night with the girls. I’ll see you tonight, love you. _

Clarke quickly wipes a tear away with the heel of her hand, noting that he sent that just a few hours ago. Checking the time for the first time since she woke up, she realizes it’s nearly noon, which is when she told her parents she’d pick up Lucie. She shakes her head at herself as she shoots them a text that she’ll be late.  _ So fucking irresponsible _ , she scolds herself. She hasn’t felt this amount of self loathing in a long time. It’s not quite at the level of “I hid my pregnancy from Bellamy for five months” but it’s not too far behind. 

Clarke is sitting in the back of her Lyft when her dad texts her back.

** _Dad: _ ** _ Bellamy already texted this morning, don’t worry about it. See you soon, love you. _

_ Great _ , she thinks.  _ Who knows what Bellamy told them _ . 

When she gets home, she ignores all her messages in favor of a fast ten minute shower, a cup of coffee, and a piece of toast. She already feels so much better after getting everything out of her system. She throws on leggings and her navy puffer bomber jacket over an old sweater and heads over to her parents house. 

\--∞--

Bellamy lays on his couch, holding a pillow to his chest while he numbly watches some history channel special that was on when he turned the TV on. He’s fully given into his self-loathing, content to do nothing and talk to no one for the rest of the day and night, when his apartment door swings open. 

For the briefest moment, he gets his hopes up that it’s Clarke. Maybe they can talk this out, somehow.

“Blake!” It’s Raven’s voice instead. She’s standing in front of him a moment later, hands on her hips.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, sounding as exhausted as he feels. 

“Where’s Clarke? She’s not answering her phone,” she complains, clearly frustrated.

“She left,” he tells her, throwing the pillow aside and standing up. “How did you even get in here?” he asks as he brushes past her towards the kitchen for more coffee. She follows on his heels. 

“I have a spare, remember?” she says, holding up a key. 

“Not really, but sure,” he mutters, pouring himself another mug. “Want any?”

“Sure.” Raven climbs onto one of the stools at the island. He looks at her expectantly after sliding the mug across the island to her. 

“So Clarke was a full blown shitshow last night, huh?” Raven asks. 

“Well, you should know, given that  _ you _ were the one out with her.”

“I left pretty soon after Harper. We both missed the show,” she explains, ignoring the jab. 

“Well was she upset or something when you were there?”

“Well, to start, I’m aware that things have been icy between you two, so don’t deny that,” Raven says, shooting him a look. “Last night specifically...I don’t know. She didn’t seem upset really. I know she saw Cage, who apparently owns the new club we were at.”

“That guy’s a dick,” Bellamy mutters.

“Stating the obvious. I mean other than that...well.” Raven hesitates, seemingly unsure whether to share with him.

“Really, Raven? She showed up at my bar hammered. Whatever it is, I should know.”

“I mean, she just said she’s been feeling anxious because she isn’t sure she wants more kids and she wasn’t sure how to tell Cillian.”

That surprises Bellamy. Just a few weeks ago at Lucie’s party she seemed pretty sure of it. 

“That’s...new.”

Raven nods. “Yeah. It’s crazy how much smoother things would go if people  _ communicated _ ,” she says, giving him a pointed look.

“Is that right?” Bellamy smirks. “And how is that guy who you don’t actually like? Seems like you liked him enough last night.”

“Don’t be an  _ ass _ ,” she scolds him, but laughs a little over the last word. “What was Clarke acting like when she was here last night?”

“Oh, well let’s see,” he starts, giving Raven a sarcastic look. “After I had to physically remove her from my bar by throwing her over my shoulder-”

“Kinky,” she winks.

“It’s not funny,” he insists, but even he’s smirking a little now. “She babbled about how Lucie was the best, asked if I missed Lucie, proceded to call me a dick, insisted she was going to stay on the counter when I tried to get her to bed, and then ended the night with, ‘I don’t want it to be with someone else,’ or something like that. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Bellamy purposely leaves out the part where Clarke essentially said Lucie is cute because she looks like him, as well as the part where she combed her fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” he adds, before Raven can respond. “Ours are perfect. She also said that. Didn’t mention our  _ what _ before she passed out.” Bellamy furrows his brow and shakes his head at the memory, feeling frustrated with Clarke all over again. 

Raven is staring at him with raised eyebrows and an open mouth.

“What?” he asks. 

“Jesus, what a mess,” she mutters once she recovers, shaking her head. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks again, increasingly frustrated.

“Nope. That’s...I’m not touching that one,” she decides. “You guys need to talk it out.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Alright, well thanks for the coffee. I’m late for spin class.”

A minute later, Bellamy is left alone again, more confused than ever.

\--∞--

Clarke chugs the remaining coffee from her tumbler, still sitting in her car parked in her parents’ driveway. She sighs, not yet getting out of her car, as she takes one more moment to try to pull herself together. This isn’t like her. She’s always been able to compartmentalize and handle things rationally, but she just feel like she’s spiraling lately.

When Clarke walks into the house, she follows the sound of the television and finds Jake and Lucie watching Moana. Jake is on the couch and Lucie is laying on her stomach in front of the TV with wide eyes. Lucie notices her immediately when she walks into the room.

“Mom!” she yells, jumping up from the floor and running over to her. Clarke drops to her knees and hugs her tightly, burying her face in her daughter’s hair.

“Hi baby,” she says, her voice cracking. She’s not sure where it comes from, but suddenly she feels tears springing up in her eyes and her face crumpling inward like it does before she cries. She swallows hard. 

“Did you have fun?” she asks in a cracked voice, pulling away and holding her daughter’s face in her hands.

“Of course!” Lucie answers, like it’s the dumbest question in the world. Clarke lets out a watery laugh.

“Luce, why don’t you go help Grandma with lunch in the kitchen?” Jake suggests, standing from the couch. Lucie runs off towards the kitchen and Clarke stands again, letting out a shaky breath. 

Her dad gives her a long, curious look while she gnaws on her bottom lip. “C’mon, hon. Let’s go for a drive,” he tells her, heading towards the foyer for his coat. 

“A drive where?” she questions, the momentary confusion overshadowing her strange outburst. 

“You’ll see.” He’s wearing a small smirk but just calls at Abby that they’re running to the store and will be back later.

Clarke sighs, following her dad to his BMW and climbing in the passenger seat. 

“Dad-” she starts, when he pulls out the driveway.

He shakes his head at her. “Not yet.”

Clarke rolls her eyes fondly and spends the rest of the ten minute drive looking at the passing houses and neighborhoods. Eventually the ocean comes into view. A few minutes later, Jake pulls into a parking spot in a more secluded area of the beach. Not that it’s hard, given that it’s the middle of January. Still, Clarke does notice a few bonfires further down the beach once she gets out of the car.

The ocean is rough today, the waves crashing loudly onto the shore in a soothing rhythm. The salty air with a hint of bonfire smoke envelopes her. It’s overcast, as it usually is near the ocean during winter in Arkadia. 

Jake walks to the front of the car and leans against the hood. Clarke follows suit, sitting on the hood next to him.

“Do you remember this place?” he asks.

Clarke laughs lightly. “Of course I do. You took me here all the time as a kid.”

Jake smiles fondly towards the ocean a short distance away. “Yeah, not just  _ all _ the time. I took you here when you were upset and needed a good cry,” he reminds her.

Clarke nods, catching onto his intentions. “Right. Because you said the waves would carry away my tears and the salt would heal my wounds,” she remembers with a small smile. She still has an ache in her throat.

“Of course, you never believed me,” Jake reminisces. “Because you didn’t do nonsense, even when you were that small. I worried about you though. All your life, Clarke, you always held everything in. You don’t let yourself feel, you were always so stoic and strong, putting others above yourself. But I know that thick skin protects a sensitive heart, just like your mother. I wanted you to have somewhere to go where you felt safe releasing that, somewhere you could just let go.”

“I don’t-” Clarke chokes on a sob before she can even finish her thought. Her dad wraps an arm around her and pulls her in closer as she begins to cry, rubbing soothing circles into her back. 

“It’s okay, hon. Just let it out.”

She continues crying for a few minutes until her tears feel less overwhelming and her breath begins to steady. Through wet eyes, she watches the waves breach the shore before they’re pulled back into the abyss. She wonders if her dad is right. Maybe her tears are being pulled back into the ocean with the waves as they watch.

“I don’t even know why I’m upset,” she says, shaking her head. “I just feel...wrong. Like I’m off kilter.”

Jake nods, as if pondering that. “Bellamy called this morning. Said you had a bit of a rough night and would be late to our place, but he didn’t give us many details.”

“Well that’s unfortunate, because he’s probably the only one who knows those details,” Clarke laughs darkly. Jake just waits for her to continue. “I was a drunken mess. I don’t know what’s wrong with me or why I drank that much...and Bell and I haven’t been getting along. He snapped at me on New Year’s and it was just...I don’t know. He’s never spoken to me like that. Then ever since Christmas I’ve been stressing myself out questioning whether I really want more children. Cillian does, and I’ve said I do in the past, but now…” Clarke shakes her head at herself. “Sorry, I’m not making any sense.”

“Well, you’re making a little bit of sense. Give yourself that much,” Jake jokes, drawing a small smile out of her. Clarke wipes at the tears under her eyes. 

“Well I guess it just feels like Bellamy and I have been off since the engagement.”

Jake nods. “Well, that makes sense, hon. It’s been just the two of you for so long. It takes time to adjust.”

“Right, exactly! I know this, and on New Year’s, he pretty much ran outside after midnight. He seemed upset and I tried to talk to him and said exactly that - how it isn’t easy with all the change. He just snapped at me that he didn’t know what I was talking about. It wasn’t even his words it’s just...he’s never spoken to me so coldly. Even when we fight, it was never just...so dismissive. Like he wanted nothing to do with me.”

Jake nods, as if thinking, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Then last night, I guess we ended up at the Dead Zone. Based on what I gather from the girls’ text messages, I guess I refused to leave, which explains how I ended up at Bellamy’s. But beyond that...I don’t know what I was thinking. Why I drank so much. Cage Wallace was there too, that didn’t help. He gives me the creeps. But this thing with Cillian, I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid me not wanting more kids will be a huge hurdle that we can’t overcome.” 

Jake nods again. “Well, that’s not easy stuff, hon. I think you’ve got to talk to both of them, without alcohol, and just be honest. Cillian loves you. Maybe this will end up being a problem, or maybe it won’t, but you won’t know until you talk about it. It’s better to figure these things out sooner rather than later.”

“I know,” Clarke sighs. “I do know that.”

“You not wanting more kids, that’s new,” Jake comments. 

Clarke shrugs. “I wish I could give a more concrete reason it changed. I just- on Christmas, Cillian was talking about our future kids and I just...I wasn’t excited like I should have been. It doesn’t make me excited. And maybe that will change in the future, but I don’t know for certain that it will. If that’s a deal breaker for him...then I don’t know that I can promise him that.”

Jake hums. “Now, don’t get mad at me for asking this,” he starts.

“This’ll be good,” she mutters. Jake ignores her. 

“Do you think you don’t want kids, or do you think maybe you don’t want kids with Cillian?”

“What kind of question is that? I’m marrying him, I love him. Of course if I want more kids, then I want kids with him.”

“Alright. What about the thought of more kids with Bellamy? Does that make you feel differently?”

“Dad,” Clarke warns, this time becoming genuinely irritated. She hates herself for the way her stomach flutters warmly at the thought of it, but she refuses to go down that road. The chance for that, if there ever was one...it’s gone.

“Clarke, I just-”

“No, Dad. Listen, I know you love Bellamy, but-”

“Clarke,” he cuts her off. She raises her eyebrows at him expectantly. “Clarke I don’t say that or think that because  _ I _ love Bellamy,” he says with a little laugh. “I say that because I can see how much  _ he _ loves  _ you _ . And...well, sometimes I think you feel the same.”

Clarke opens her mouth to refute him, but he puts a hand up. “I know. I know it’s complicated, and scary, but it’s also rare, what you two have. It’s what I have with your mom. If Cillian is  _ truly _ the one who makes you happy, and you’re really sure, just say the word...I’ll never bring it up again and I’ll be smiling the biggest at your wedding to him. I just want you to be  _ happy _ . I want you to be bursting at the seams happy and feel like your heart can barely contain it. But only you know your heart, and only you know who makes you feel that way.”

Clarke shakes her head, letting out a long breath as she looks back out towards the ocean. She doesn’t know what to say to that. She can admit that her feelings for Bellamy are complicated, but there’s a reason she never voices them out loud. It would make them real and unavoidable. It would doom her. 

“Dad, I…” She chews on her bottom lip, the whole conversation making her anxious. “I do love Cillian and yes, Bellamy and I are...were complicated. I can admit that. Yes, maybe there was a time in the past for us, but not anymore. Cillian is the one for me.”

She doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment on his face, but he squeezes her hand and smiles at her. “Okay. Well, it sounds like you’ve got some people to talk to either way, Kiddo.”

“I know. I know I haven’t handled things well, but that’s going to change.”

Jake gives her a proud smile. “That’s my girl.” 

Pulling her closer, Jake presses a kiss to her temple before looking back out at the ocean with her. 

\--∞--

Bellamy grunts as he sets the crate of beer down behind the bar. It’s 4:30pm and he’s only got an hour until the bar opens, but Murphy came down with the flu and Emori is home taking care of him. His other two employees couldn’t cover their shifts, and while he supposes he could have demanded that they come in, he never wanted to be that kind of boss. He can handle it, even if it will be exhausting. 

Bellamy is loading the beer fridge behind the bar when he hears the bell over the front door. He silently curses Raven, who must have forgotten to lock up on her way out.

“We’re closed, come back in an hour,” he calls without turning around.

“I was hoping you could make an exception.”

When he turns around, it’s Clarke standing next to the door, looking more nervous than he’s seen her in a long time. She looks at him expectantly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

He stares at her for a beat too long before nodding at her to come over to the bar.

“Didn’t think that you’d want to be around any alcohol for a while,” he quips as she takes a seat on a bar stool across the bar from him. 

She gives him a hesitant smile, like she isn’t sure if that was a joke or a dig. He supposes it was both. 

“Want some water?” he asks. Clarke nods and neither of them says anything while he pulls two water bottles out of the fridge, handing one to her. 

Clarke takes a few large gulps of water as he watches her carefully.

Maybe Clarke fucked up yesterday, but she wasn’t wrong to be upset with him for what happened before that. It was his fault things had been tense between them for weeks. He had blamed her for his own feelings and that wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to their family either, especially Lucie. He needed to get over it. After all, this is how it was always supposed to happen. He just somehow, naively, didn’t expect it to hurt so badly.

“You were right,” he says, once she sets the water bottle back down on the bar. “I am a dick.”

Clarke lets out a nervous laugh and shakes her head. “No- Bell, I’m so sorry. I totally screwed up and then had the audacity to blame you. I’ve been in a strange head space, but...I feel better now. I talked to my dad and- well it doesn’t matter. But I’m sorry. I was totally out of control and you were there to catch me, like always. I don’t want to ever take advantage of that.”

Bellamy swallows, taking a moment before he answers. “Clarke, you don’t take advantage of that, of us. I won’t argue about the part where you were out of control though,” he laughs. 

Clarke groans and dramatically throws her head onto her arms on the bar, burying her face in embarrassment. The air between them already feels lighter and he can’t help but smirk at her when she finally looks up at him again. 

“But,” he continues. “You were also right. I was totally out of line on New Year’s. I don’t ever want to be someone who talks to you like that or lashes out at you because of my own issues. I…” He runs a hand through his hair, hesitating. “I guess I felt kind of sad, not spending the night with you and Lucie like we usually do. I just felt lonely, I guess. But I should have just told you that, instead of trying to bury it. I know things are changing, Clarke. I’m okay, and I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to minimize your happiness just because I’m not in the same place yet.”

Clarke nods. “I was sad too,” she admits. “I know maybe it didn’t seem like it, and of course I loved having Cillian and our friends with us, but...it’s still hard for me too.” She shrugs, like she isn’t sure how to explain herself. She doesn’t have to though. He understands her all too well after so many years spent by her side.

Clarke glances around the bar when he doesn’t say anything further. “Are you here alone tonight?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy sighs. “I guess Murphy has the flu so Emori is home with him, and no one was around to cover.”

“You’re working the bar alone on a Saturday night?”

“It’ll be fine,” Bellamy assures her. 

“Well...maybe I could stay and help.”

“Clarke, you don’t have to do that.”

“Why not? It’ll be just like old times.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at that. When he first opened the bar and couldn’t afford to hire anyone other than Murphy, the three of them worked together almost constantly. He can’t deny that it was a lot of fun, despite how exhausting it was. 

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees hesitantly.

“Great!” Clarke responds with twice his enthusiasm. “I just have to let my parents and Cillian know I won’t be back until later.”

“Clarke, if you have plans-”

Clarke shakes her head at him, phone already to her ear. “It’s totally fine,” she assures him. 

Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to answer before she’s walking away, speaking with Cillian.

As people file into the bar over the next few hours, Bellamy and Clarke fall back into a seamless team, working around each other behind the bar in a perfect choreography. It was a dance not forgotten by either, no matter how much time had passed. 

Bellamy smiles at Clarke, who is chatting with a regular seated at the bar. She laughs wildly at something he says and Bellamy watches the old man’s face light up at her reaction. He’s usually stoic and surly, and Bellamy rarely sees him smile. He thinks the last time he did was probably about a month ago, when his daughter climbed onto the bar stool next to him and asked Murphy what a whiskey neat was. There’s just a light in Clarke that he can’t explain, and his daughter certainly inherited it. 

Around eleven, Clarke comes over to him as he hands over a beer to a customer. She’s wearing an old black tank top with the sweater she came in wearing tied around her waist. Her cheeks are a rosy pink, flushed from the busyness and heat of the bar. 

“Hey,” she smiles. “This was actually pretty fun.”

“Does this mean I’ve got a new employee willing to work for free?”

Clarke laughs, ducking her head before looking back up at him. “Afraid not. Mom life and all, things get busy.”

“Of course,” he smirks. 

“Anyways, I just texted my parents that I’m heading over to pick up Lucie. She’s probably sleeping but I want to bring her home tonight. Sorry I can’t stay until close.”

“No, of course. Get our girl home safe,” he smiles. 

Clarke pulls her sweater over her head and comes her fingers through her tangled waves. “I will,” she promises. Seemingly hesitating for a moment, she takes a step back. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says after a beat. He gives her a small wave before she walks away from him.

Bellamy is looking in the opposite direction, so he’s caught off guard when Clarke is back in his space a moment later. Without a word, she wraps her arms around him and presses her face into his shoulder. Bellamy reciprocates a moment later, holding her tightly and gently rocking her. 

“I’m sorry, Bell,” she murmurs.

He lets her go and holds her face in his hands as he presses a kiss to her forehead. “We’re all good, Princess. Don’t worry about us.”

She startles at the nickname. “Haven’t heard that name in a while,” she laughs. 

“Yeah, well,” he smirks, rolling his eyes. “Slip of the tongue.”

“Right,” she agrees. He can’t help but wonder if the reason her cheeks seem a deeper shade of pink than a moment ago is because she’s remembering the last time he called her Princess. Well the last time she  _ remembers _ him calling her Princess, since she doesn’t seem to remember a whole lot from lat night. All those years ago, when he whispered it in her ear in the dark of her bedroom at her parents’ house...no, she probably doesn’t remember, he reasons. She probably doesn’t connect that memory with the day he stopped calling her that. 

“Goodnight, Bell,” she says, one last time. This time she walks away for good.

Bellamy sighs, not realizing he had been holding his breath. Once he glances around the bar and makes sure that nobody needs him, he leans back against the counter and pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. 

Sifting through cash and cards, he finds the worn out check folded in the same sleeve that it’s sat in for the last seven years. He unfolds it carefully, aware that between its place in his wallet and the many times over the years that he’s folded and unfolded it, the paper is a bit battered.

Like the masochist he is, he reads the memorized words on the old check silently to himself. He’s not sure why he does it exactly. Maybe because he likes the idea that someone in the world believed that Clarke and him would be good for each other. That Clarke and him would make it. He doesn’t even believe that himself, but he reads it again anyways. Maybe in another life, in another world. 

_ You two reminded us a lot of ourselves when we were young. It’s clear from your nervous smiles that this is something new and we’re not sure of the circumstances that led you to the diner looking like you each walked through hell to make it here, but if the love we saw shining from each of you tonight is anything to go by, we think your future together looks brighter. Remember, if it’s right, it’ll happen. Nothing good gets away. Have a wonderful new year. _

_ Nothing good gets away _ . Bellamy mentally scoffs at the thought. So many good things slip away, for so many unavoidable reasons. Still, he folds it at the same worn out creases and puts it back into his wallet, saving it for another desperate moment. 

\--∞--

“Okay, go get your pajamas on. It’s late,” Clarke tells Lucie once they walk into the house. 

Once Lucie trudges off to her room, Clarke follows the smell of pasta sauce to the kitchen, where Cillian is making her a late dinner. Moments like these, she’s thankful that he has a key to her place. 

“Hey,” she greets him with a smile. 

“Hey.” He looks up at her, smiling over the pot of sauce. “How was working the bar? Didn’t know you had bartending experience,” he laughs. 

“I’m a woman of mystery,” she laughs. 

Clarke moves over to him and wraps her arm around his waist, pulling him into a hug. He leans down to give her a quick peck before his attention returns to the pasta. As soon as Clarke mentioned via text that she hadn’t eaten dinner, Cillian told her he would whip something up for her to eat when she got home.

_ This is good _ , she thinks.  _ This is easy, and loving. This will be good _ . 

“I’m going to put Lucie to bed, she’s still half asleep,” Clarke tells him.

A minute later, Clarke opens Lucie’s door to find her daughter lying on her bed asleep, on top of the comforter. At least she managed to change into her pajamas first. Clarke smiles as she walks over, kneeling down so she’s eye level with her.

“Luce,” she whispers. “You’ve got to brush your teeth, hon.”

Lucie opens her eyes and shakes her head. “I already did with Grandma.”

“Are you sure about that?” Clarke asks, giving her a suspicious look. Lucie nods vehemently. 

“Well, alright. Let’s get you under the covers.” 

Lucie sits up so Clarke can pull the blankets back, allowing Lucie to climb under them. Lucie looks up at her with Bellamy’s brown eyes as Clarke tucks her in, but the tired expression on her face reminds Clarke of Octavia when anyone wakes her up before 8am. 

“Mommy, why were you sad today?” Lucie whispers. 

Clarke pauses, hesitating a beat before pulling the blankets back over Lucie.

“Well, sometimes when you’re a grown up you have to make big decisions that are scary. But everything’s alright now. All you need to worry about is getting a good night’s sleep.”

“Did Grandpa make you feel better?” Lucie asks, immediately breaking into a yawn. “He makes me feel better when I’m sad.”

“Yeah, hon. He did,” she agrees, pressing a kiss to Lucie’s forehead. “He’s good at that, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Lucie mumbles, but her eyes are already closed.

“Goodnight, Luce. I love you,” Clarke says, tucking the blankets tighter around her and giving her one more kiss. 

Lucie doesn’t answer, already having fallen into a deep sleep.

\--∞--

An hour later, after eating Cillian’s pasta with him over an episode of The Good Place, Clarke climbs into bed beside him. He’s focused on his phone, occasionally scrolling through something. A news article related to healthcare, if Clarke had to guess.

“Hey,” Clarke starts, laying on her side to face him. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Alright,” Cillian says hesitantly, setting his phone down on the night stand. “Should I be concerned?” He lays on his side, mirroring Clarke. 

“I hope not,” Clarke answers. Her stomach is in knots. She doesn’t want to lose Cillian over this. Cillian raises his eyebrows expectantly at her.

“Well,” Clarke starts, looking down at the pillow and avoiding eye contact. “First you should know...last night, I got incredibly drunk. Embarrassingly so...I’m really ashamed.” 

“Nothing happened, like...that,” she assures him, reading his concerned expression. “But we all ended the night at the Dead Zone, and because I was acting like a belligerent drunk and refused to leave, I spent the night at Bellamy’s. Of course, nothing happened. I just went to sleep, and he took Lucie’s bed.” She knows she’s starting to ramble, like she does when she’s nervous. Meeting Cillian’s eyes, his expression is unreadable.

“You slept in Bellamy’s bed?” he asks, after a beat. Clarke furrows her brow at him. She hadn’t thought that would be a problem when she made it clear Bellamy wasn’t in the bed with her. 

“Well, yeah...he was just being nice. I-” Clarke shakes her head at herself. “That’s not even what I really wanted to talk about.”

Cillian tilts his head slightly, indicating for her to go on. 

“Well, I think the reason I started drinking so much is because I was avoiding this conversation, which was just- it was so immature. But...I have to tell you, I’m not sure that I want more kids. I’ve been thinking about it a lot since our conversation on Christmas, and I’m not sure I want that. I...maybe I’ll change my mind, one day, but if that’s a deal breaker for you-”

“Clarke, stop,” Cillian says gently, moving a hand to encompass her hip. “There is no  _ deal breaker _ with us. I want  _ you _ . Whatever that looks like. Of course I’m open to more kids, but if you see our family as us and Lucie, and the rest of your crazy friends...that changes nothing for me. I just want  _ you _ Clarke.”

“Really?” Clarke asks, voice hopeful. She suddenly feels foolish for turning this into such an ordeal.

“Of course, hon. Honestly, I’m more concerned that you thought you couldn’t talk to me about this, and that you ended up in Bellamy’s bed, than the fact you don’t want more kids.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Don’t say it like that. I didn’t end up in Bellamy’s bed.”

“Clarke,” Cillian starts, sighing. “I’m not mad, but just- imagine if the roles were reversed. What if I got drunk and slept in Josephine’s bed, even if she was just on the couch.”

Clarke furrows her brow. “That’s not- Bellamy’s not my ex. He’s my friend.”

“Clarke, I believe you, but he’s Lucie’s father. Please...don’t minimize that. Can we just-” Cillian cuts himself off, removing his hand from her and letting out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to fight. I just want you to understand, even if his intentions were good, it’s not exactly comfortable for me.”

Clarke nods, feeling more guilty about it than she did a minute ago. She didn’t expect this to be the point of contention in the conversation.

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, just...no more drunken nights at Bellamy’s, okay? I want you to be able to talk to me about these things.”

“I know. I’m sorry...it’s hard for me sometimes. It’s just the way I’ve always been.”

Cillian gives her a small smile. “I know. Just another one of your charms, babe.”

\--∞--

It takes Clarke a second to realize it’s her phone that woke her up. She blinks, trying to clear her vision, as she takes in her room. The sun is already up, but given that Lucie was up late last night, and Cillian and her didn’t bother to set an alarm, it could really be any time of the morning. Anyways, Clarke has always been a firm believer that Sundays are for sleeping in.

She groans as she sits up, reaching for her phone on her night stand. It stops ringing just as she picks it up and Cillian stirs next to her. She’s just read that it’s a missed call from her mother when her mother calls again, a picture of the two of them from a few years ago popping up on the screen.

“Mom?” Clarke asks, voice groggy. “What’s up?”

“Clake.” Clarke can barely hear anything after that. It’s all blubbering and tears, making her heart beat wildly even though her mind doesn’t know why yet. She senses Cillian sitting up next to her.

“Mom, slow down. I don’t understand.” Even without understanding her mother, tears rise up in her throat.

“Clarke, there was an accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: My autocorrect tried to change Cillian to Villain when I was writing this. Guy can’t catch a break looool.


	16. This Mess Was Yours, Now Your Mess is Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for being patient with me, life got busy enough. Here's some well-deserved, pure unadulterated fluff. Enjoy!
> 
> Chapter title is from 'Mess is Mine' by Vance Joy.

**~ 6 1/2 Years Ago**

Clarke wakes up the next morning to the sound of raindrops on the window and the smell of pancakes somehow wafting through the closed bedroom door. She remembers where she is immediately, but the events of the night drift back to her slowly. Running a hand across her bump under Octavia’s old sweatshirt, she thinks about the feeling of being in Bellamy’s arms, of his lips grazing her forehead. With her eyes closed, her memories are simply _ feeling _ and there’s something blissful about it. There’s something about it that makes her want to wrap herself in it and close her eyes again with just the feel of Bellamy’s arms around her.

But no- she can’t go there. It makes her remember what she’s here to do. _ Talk _. Knots of anxiety tighten in her stomach as she thinks about this. She’s never been great at confrontation, not when it comes to being vulnerable about her feelings. Hand still on her bump, she rolls onto her back with more effort than she’d like and stares at the ceiling, willing herself to get out of bed. In the end, it’s really the smell of Bellamy’s pancakes that makes her throw off her blankets and cautiously make her way to the kitchen.

When she walks in, she finds Bellamy with his back to her, flipping pancakes on the stove. He’s in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white undershirt, his hair sticking up every direction in a bad case of bed head. 

Clarke clears her throat as she walks over to the kitchen table, announcing her presence as she takes a seat. 

“Hey. Morning,” he tells her, running his free hand through his hair. She can now see that he’s wearing the same glasses she thought he looked nerdy in when she was in high school, but they...well, she feels different about them now.

“Hey,” she murmurs. The angry tension between them is gone, but it still feels awkward. Her belly is the definition of an elephant in the room. Clarke looks out the window, taking in the gray sky and steady rain that hasn’t let up since the night before. It’s the kind of weather that makes her want to crawl back into bed. 

“How’d you sleep?” Bellamy momentarily abandons the pancakes and pours a mug of coffee. 

“Good.” Clarke turns away from the window to look at him. “Great,” she assures him. 

Bellamy offers her the cup of coffee he poured, but just as he’s about to hand it over, he pulls his hand back. Clarke looks up at him with raised eyebrows, thinking that it’s a strange time to tease her. Instead, she finds that he looks genuinely concerned, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait, can you have regular coffee?”

Clarke smirks, amused by his concerns. 

“I think I might have decaf,” he continues, but Clarke cuts him off.

“It’s fine,” she assures him with a light laugh, reaching across the table to take the mug back from him. “It’s alright in moderation.”

Bellamy just nods and hurries back to the stove to save the pancakes from burning. Clarke looks out the window again as she sips on her coffee, feeling more awake from the smell alone. She pauses after the first sip when she realizes that Bellamy knew exactly how she takes it without having to ask. A splash of almond milk, no sugar. 

Glancing over at him again, she can’t help but smile at the gesture as he piles the pancakes onto two plates. It’s a familiar sight, but Octavia is usually sitting across the table from her, between Bellamy and her. She’d be eating a poptart while Bellamy yelled at her, asking why he was bothering to make the pancakes. 

With just her and Bellamy here, it’s familiar, but still different. They have to learn each other without Octavia sitting between them. 

Bellamy sits down across from her, in Octavia’s usual seat, setting a plate of pancakes in front of each of them. Neither of them touch their plates, as if they’re both waiting to clear the air before eating. Bellamy stares down at his plate like it might hold the answers he’s looking for. 

_ Here it goes _ , Clarke encourages herself. _ You can do this. You can do this for your baby. _

“I’m sorry,” she starts. “I was acting crazy yesterday.”

Bellamy looks up at her, vulnerable eyes meeting hers. “It wasn’t a shining moment for either of us.” He pauses, fidgeting with his hands. Clarke’s never noticed that nervous habit. “I’m sorry about what I said, Clarke. I hope it’s obvious that I didn’t mean it- of course I didn’t mean it. I know you would never keep our kid from me.”

Clarke shakes her head, looking down at her pancakes. She feels too ashamed to meet his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did think that. I handled everything wrong from the very beginning. I think that’s half the reason I picked a fight. I couldn’t believe..._ can’t _ believe you aren’t angry at me for not telling you. You just let it go but it feels like now I’m just waiting for you to realize how angry you should be. And when you realize that, you might leave. I think subconsciously, I thought if I pushed you away, it would hurt less. I wanted some control over it I guess, instead of just _ waiting _ for it to happen.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, feeling on the verge of tears from the weight of her words. When she finally looks up at Bellamy, she finds his eyes trained on hers. They’re shining with empathy that she doesn’t think she deserves.

“Clarke. I know I didn’t handle it well by just immediately brushing all of that aside. Of course I felt angry and hurt about you keeping it from me. But I can promise you that no matter how I’m feeling on any particular hour of any particular day, leaving never has and never will cross my mind.”

“Rationally, I know that. I know you’re a good person, Bellamy. I know you wouldn’t abandon your child. But I also know you didn’t _ want _ this or _ choose _ this. I don’t want you to feel this obligation, only to have regrets-”

“Clarke,” he cuts her off, furrowing his brow at her like he can’t believe her words. “Clarke stop. Obviously, this wasn’t part of my plan any more than it was part of yours, but I want this too. This isn’t some sense of moral obligation to me, this is...I do want this, Clarke. I _ do _choose this.”

Clarke lets out a sigh of relief. She hadn’t even realized how much that fear had been weighing on her until she voiced it out loud. So maybe Bellamy didn’t want to be with her, not in the way she often found herself wanting him. That didn’t make him a bad father, or even a bad friend to her. They could be friends, partners. They would have to be.

Clarke looks down, picking at a hangnail on her thumb. “So, you’re really not angry?”

She knows she sounds like a child, and she’s sure her uncertain tone only amplifies that. But still, she has to hear it from him. She has to know he’s forgiven her. 

“Angry, no. I’m not angry.” Bellamy leans back in his chair, cracking his knuckles. “But it did hurt, to think you didn’t trust me or want me involved, and I just don’t understand-”

“It’s not that,” Clarke blurts, cutting him off. “It wasn’t that. I…” Clarke runs a hand over her bump, as if the reminder of why this needs to be said might give her strength. “You didn’t answer.”

“What?”

Clarke sighs. She feels like her body is physically rejecting the conversation, begging her to give into her instincts and crawl deeper inside herself. “After...after we slept together. I reached out, and you didn’t answer. I guess with my anxiety about the pregnancy, I convinced myself that meant you wouldn’t want anything to do with me, or...us.”

“Clarke, I…”

Clarke shakes her head. “Don’t, you don’t have to explain. I exaggerated the whole thing in my head, I-”

“What did you want to say, if we had talked?”

Clarke’s heart pounds against her ribcage and she can somehow simultaneously feel it beating in her throat.

“I...I just wanted to make sure things were okay between us. That things wouldn’t be weird.”

She knows that maybe that’s a bit of a lie, but it’s not entirely. The truth is she’ll never know exactly what she would have said during that conversation or how it would have gone, and she never will know. They both have to live with that.

Bellamy bites down on his lower lip, looking a little amused. “Mission accomplished, nothing weird here.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but not with any real malice. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It only matters that I’m sorry I let that become more than what it was.”

“It does matter,” Bellamy counters, serious again. “I’m sorry too. I should have answered you, I...you bolted the next day and I thought I had made you uncomfortable. With you leaving for school soon, I just figured...I just figured it was for the best. Obviously, I was wrong and should have at least said as much.”

“Maybe not,” Clarke ponders. Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her. “I just mean, maybe things work out how they’re supposed to,” she clarifies. “Maybe we went through all that so we could sit down and talk about it now, and now...we can be okay.”

Bellamy gives her a soft smile. “Let’s pretend you’re right, regardless of if that’s true.”

“You know, when I told Octavia, she told me that we had better get our shit together or this would be a mess,” Clarke quips. “How do you think we’re doing?”

A surprised laugh escapes Bellamy. “That sounds like O. For the record, Princess, no matter how much you yell at me, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Just consider me your good little knight,” he smirks, reaching for the syrup.

Clarke ducks her head in a surprised laugh, gasping at him with an open mouth. For the first time since Bellamy found out, she feels a delicate joy beginning to bloom somewhere deep inside her. 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” she laughs, shaking her head at him as he pours syrup over his pancakes. 

Bellamy’s smirk disappears as he sets the syrup back on the table. “Of course I remember.”

Clarke reaches for the syrup hesitantly, taken aback by the intensity of his words and unsure of how to answer. 

“Even though you were a thorn in my side,” he adds, giving her a teasing smile. 

“Oh, _ I _ was the thorn? _ You _ were the insufferable one,” she laughs, the tension once again dissipating. 

Bellamy laughs. “Yesterday...you were right, Clarke,” he says, after a beat. “Maybe picking a fight wasn’t the _ best _ way to say it, but you were right about us not being us. We haven’t been us.”

Clarke smiles softly. “I like this better,” she agrees, tearing off a piece of her pancake that has no syrup on it yet. She waits until he has a mouthful of pancakes before tossing it at him. Clarke giggles when it hits him square in the forehead. He looks up at her over his glasses as he chews, fork still in his hand, a giddy smile on his face. 

\--∞--

Clarke gazes out the window, sipping on the last of her coffee as Bellamy cleans up the kitchen. It’s still raining steadily, even harder than when she woke up.

“It’s so gross,” she complains, sighing. “I don’t want to go outside.”

“Then don’t.” 

Clarke looks over to where he’s doing the dishes, but he seems entirely focused on the sponge and plate in his hands.

“What?”

Bellamy pauses before turning to look at her. “Then don’t go outside. Hang out here for the day, with me.”

Clarke can’t deny that it’s an appealing idea, in more ways than one. If they’re going to be friends and actually get to know each other, they have to start somewhere.

“You don’t have to work?”

“Nope,” he says, putting the last plate in the drying rack. “I don’t have a security or bar shift today. Let’s just have a rainy day, watch movies or something.”

Clarke hums. “That doesn’t sound too terrible.”

\--∞--

Clarke settles onto the opposite side of the couch from Bellamy, their old spots from her high school years. Octavia always insisted that she get the chair, despite being the smallest of them. 

Bellamy turns the Sandlot on first, and despite the fact it’s one of her favorite movies and she hasn’t seen it in a while, they’re barely thirty minutes into it before her eyes grow heavy. She lays down on her side, her head on the pillow against the arm of the couch and her legs curled up so that she doesn’t bother Bellamy. 

“Falling asleep on me already, Griffin?” he teases. 

“Shut up,” she murmurs, but she can’t manage any real heat behind it. Her eyes are already closing and a minute later her mind is drifting off, on its way to a dream. Still, she’s awake enough to feel Bellamy wordlessly pull her feet onto his lap. It’s such an unexpectedly intimate gesture that her stomach flutters. 

When Clarke wakes, it’s to the end credits of the movie scrolling down the television screen. Blinking her eyes open a few times, she glances towards Bellamy and finds that his face is in a book, her feet still in his lap. His hand is resting on her ankle like they do this every morning. 

She knows she’s been caught staring when his mouth twists into a smirk before he even looks over at her. 

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases, setting his book down. 

Clarke yawns, placing an arm over her belly as she sits up and pulls her legs off of Bellamy. 

“You try growing a human,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. 

“You want to go back to sleep?” he asks, more sincere this time. “You can go back to bed in O’s room if you want.”

She is pretty tired still, but going back to O’s room without Bellamy with her...that’s not a very appealing idea. “I’m okay,” she laughs. “Wide awake now.”

“Yeah, you look it,” he teases. 

Before Clarke can answer, Bellamy stands abruptly. “I know just the activity for us. Perfect for yelling at each other, just like old times,” he quips, already walking out of the room. 

“Sounds promising,” Clarke answers cautiously, eyeing the laptop he’s carrying when he walks back into the room. He sits down in the middle of the couch, closer to her than he was before. 

“C’mere,” he tells her, waving her closer to him. It’s presumably so she can see the screen of the laptop he now has opened, but the gesture makes Clarke’s chest tighten. _ Friends _, she reminds herself. She scoots closer until her arm is pressed against his, which brushes against hers as he types. She watches him curiously as he opens google and types babynames.com into the search bar. 

A surprised laugh escapes her. “We’re going to yell at each other, looking at baby names?”

“It’ll be perfect.” When Bellamy looks down at her, his face mere inches from her own, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “We never agree on anything- and don’t worry, Princess. I am fully committed to _ not _ sparing your feelings. Kid gloves are off. I’m going to viciously tear apart any dumb suggestions you make, so think long and hard before voicing them aloud.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and laughs again, this time more freely. Shifting her focus back to the screen, the first thing she notices is that the homepage is covered in pink font or blue font, the names categorized by gender. She senses Bellamy staring at the screen as intently as she is. 

“Clarke?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes remain on the screen. 

“I think- I do want to know the sex.” There’s something like determination in his voice. 

“Oh,” she utters, surprised at the declaration. 

“Do you?”

Unlike just yesterday in the car, she feels like he’s asking for her opinion instead of fishing for the right answer. He already has his opinion, regardless of what Clarke’s might be. Luckily, on this particular matter, hers is the same. 

“Yeah, I do too,” she smiles at him. “I think we’ve had enough surprises with this one.” Her hand moves over her sweatshirt covered bump and she smiles down at it fondly. “It’ll be nice to be able to plan. Not that the gender makes a difference for most things, we don’t have to do any stupid gendered color coordination,” she clarifies.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he agrees, his tone teasing.

Clarke elbows him lightly. “I just...I just want to know, that’s all.”

“Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t need to convince me. I already agreed with you.”

She laughs. “Right, sorry. I guess, let’s just look at all the names for now.”

Clarke leans in closer to him as they spend the next few hours scrolling through name list after name list. Unsurprisingly, Bellamy ended up being right - they don’t agree on much of anything when it comes to the names. Except this time, all of their disagreements are fought in teasing tones instead of cruel ones. 

It’s a little past noon when Clarke’s rumbling stomach cuts Bellamy off mid-sentence, just as he’s trying to convince Clarke that they should name their son Tiberius. 

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her, an amused smirk on his face. “Is that your not so subtle way of telling me its lunchtime or are you just running out of viable arguments against naming our son Tiberius?”

“Definitely the first,” Clarke laughs. “I have endless arguments against naming him Tiberius.”

“Alright,” Bellamy concedes, closing the laptop and setting it down on the coffee table. “How does grilled cheese sound?”

“Wonderful. Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” she asks, standing and following Bellamy into the kitchen. 

“Of course not.”

Clarke grabs the towels she used the previous night from Octavia’s room before heading towards their bathroom down the hall. She almost walks right past Bellamy’s room, but pauses at the last minute. His door was closed last night, but it’s wide open now. Glancing toward the kitchen, she hesitates at the entrance of the room, placing one hand on the doorway but refusing to go in further. It feels like there’s an invisible boundary she won’t let herself cross.

It’s not that she’s never seen Bellamy’s room. She’s peered into it countless times when walking past it from where she’s standing now. Yet, in all the years she’s been friends with Octavia, not once did she enter it. If she was being honest, it always intrigued her in the vague sort of way that the rooms of all teenage boys did. But her curiosity felt different now...deeper. She didn’t want to simply snoop, she wanted to know him. She wanted to explore all the things that Bellamy - not Octavia’s older brother, but her baby’s father - found worthy of displaying or hanging onto. 

Clarke lets her eyes sweep over the room, taking in every detail even while still refusing to enter. She can’t see the things he must keep purposely hidden from view inside his closet and closed drawers, but from what she can see, it’s all very...it’s all very _ Bellamy _. Apparently he makes his bed in the morning, which shouldn’t really surprise her. He was always the one to tidy up the house, more so than both Octavia or even Aurora. The bedspread is a dark maroon, which says nothing really, but somehow feels right to her. 

His night stand holds a pile of books, as does his desk and even his floor in some places. He doesn’t seem to have a proper bookshelf which strikes her as odd. From the doorway, she can see there’s a couple pictures taped to his wall. One is definitely him with Octavia and Aurora and another is him with a big group of people that she can’t make out from where she’s standing. His high school friends, she supposes. She can just make out a girl with pretty brown hair and wonders if it’s Roma. Just as she’s considering whether it would be terrible to walk in and take a closer look, she snaps herself out of it and scurries quickly down the hall.

After showering, she heads back to Octavia’s room to rummage through her leftover clothing for another outfit. Luckily she has no problems finding another pair of leggings, which isn’t too surprising given how many pairs she remembers Octavia owning. She’s disappointed to find that her bra is still damp from the previous night, so she does some deeper digging for a big enough sweatshirt to hide her chest. 

Just when she starts to think she won’t find one and that she’ll have to wear the same one she was wearing earlier, she finds a large gray crewcut sweatshirt buried deep in the closet. Holding it up in front of her, she notices the front reads _ ARKADIA VARSITY FOOTBALL _in maroon block letters. Clarke smirks as she pulls it over her head, wondering which one of Octavia’s hook-ups she stole the sweatshirt from. Running a hand through her damp hair, she heads back out to the kitchen.

“I made soup too,” Bellamy tells her when she walks by him, setting down a bowl of tomato soup in front of her when she sits down at the table. 

“Thanks,” Clarke smiles up at him. When she does, she catches him doing a double take in her direction before turning back towards the stove.

“What?” Clarke asks, suddenly worries that she didn’t cover up the braless situation as well as she had hoped.

“Nothing,” Bellamy shakes his head, flipping one of the sandwiches. “That’s just - that’s my sweatshirt, that’s all. I haven’t seen it in while and was wondering where it went, but that answers that. Should have known O stole it.” Bellamy laughs. It sounds a little stilted and his eyes remain on the sandwiches. 

Clarke feels anticipation twist in her stomach at the thought of wearing Bellamy’s sweatshirt, even if it hasn’t actually been in his possession for years. It both thrills her and causes her face to flush. “Oh, sorry. It was in O’s closet, I didn’t realize.”

Bellamy chuckles, flipping the grilled cheeses onto two plates and setting them down on the table. “Arkadia Varsity Football? You thought it was O’s?”

“Well, I thought maybe it was Atom’s.” Clarke watches Bellamy, amused as his face twists into a grimace. “Or Sterling’s. Or-”

“Alright, alright. That’s enough,” he laughs, sitting down across from her. “Eat your lunch.”

Clarke giggles before blowing on her soup and eating a spoonful. “You asked for it.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, Clarke suddenly feeling famished now that there’s food in front of her. 

“What about Jake, if it’s a boy?” Bellamy muses.

Clarke laughs, nearly choking on her sandwich. Bellamy eyes her like she’s gone crazy. “Am I missing something?”

“Well aside from my dad not exactly having warmed up to you yet, you...you want to name our son _ Jake Blake _?” Clarke questions, still giggling.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows in surprise and Clarke quiets. 

“I didn’t think- I thought it would be Griffin. The baby’s going to have my last name?”

Clarke sets down her sandwich, suddenly feeling terrible that this wasn’t obvious to him. But she supposes with how things have been between them and the fact they aren’t even together, let alone married, it wasn’t as much of a guarantee as she assumed it was. 

“Well, yeah, of course. You’re the father. I’m sorry, I assumed it was obvious, but I guess it wasn’t. Of course he or she will have your last name.”

Bellamy breaks into a smile, one so utterly soft and open that she can’t help but smile in response. “Oh...well,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I guess you’re right then. Jake is out.”

“Jake is out,” Clarke agrees, taking another bite of her grilled cheese. “And so is Tiberius.”

\--∞--

The day that Clarke spent with Bellamy becomes a turning point in their relationship. As September gives way to October, it’s evident that the tension between them is a thing of the past, their crimes committed at the very least forgiven, if not forgotten. They feel like partners, like friends, and it’s one less thing to stress about. Clarke has plenty to stress about without worrying about her relationship with Bellamy. Now not only does she not stress about him anymore, but conversely, he’s someone she’s learning to lean on when stressing about everything else.

Even though they could just call Dr. Jackson and immediately find out the sex of the baby, they agree to wait until Clarke’s seven month appointment to find out. Instead, as the weeks go by, they focus on spending more time together, reading parenting books like they’re studying for an exam, and shopping for all the items they think they need. Their parents are godsends in that department given that Clarke is well aware that neither Bellamy nor her really know much about what they need. In fact, Clarke is well aware that no amount of books are enough to make her and Bellamy feel like they know what they’re doing, but at least they’re stumbling through it together.

A week before Clarke’s seven month appointment, she’s reading on the couch when she hears the doorbell ring. She grunts as she stands from the couch and makes her way to the front door. Just a week away from the start of her third trimester, she can’t help but waddle a little when she walks and now consistently has to pee every thirty minutes. It’s irritating to say the least, as are the leg cramps and backaches that are becoming more frequent. 

Also frequent is the baby moving. Clarke told Bellamy about it the day they spent at his house, but unfortunately, their baby seems to be sleeping everytime Clarke is around Bellamy. Even her parents have felt the baby move, but somehow Bellamy is never around when it happens. She’s starting to feel bad about it, even though she knows there’s nothing she can do. For his part, Bellamy tries his best not to seem disappointed about it, but Clarke sees right through him. 

Bellamy is waiting on her door step when she opens it, looking so effortlessly good in a bomber jacket and jeans that it physically frustrates her. As does the fact he insists on coming up to her door every time he picks her up, but she’s stopped chastising him about that. She knows he can’t help how over protective he gets and it doesn’t seem like the hill to die on. Today it actually works in her favor.

“You ready to go?” he asks, probably noting that she isn’t wearing a jacket. They have plans to make yet another run to target to deal with their ever-growing baby list. 

“I want to show you something before we go,” she tells him, waving him inside.

\--∞--

Bellamy follows Clarke up her large winding staircase, unsure of where they’re going. It dawns on him that it’s actually the first time he’s been upstairs in her house, even though they’ve been spending a lot more time together in the past few weeks. Even pregnant, Clarke moves fast enough that Bellamy doesn’t get the chance to peer into the rooms he passes as they make their way down one end of the long hallway.

Clarke stops in front of the last door and opens it wide, stepping inside. Bellamy follows her, glancing around the entirely empty room.

“So this obviously isn’t anything yet, but I decided on this room for the nursery,” she tells him, twisting her hands nervously. 

Bellamy breaks into a smile as he walks over to the window closest to him. Being a corner room, there are four large windows, two on each wall. His heart flutters when he looks out onto the Griffins’ picturesque backyard and thinks about his kid growing up somewhere so beautiful. The one wall faces west and Bellamy imagines that the sunset through the windows will be something spectacular. 

“There’s really great light in the afternoon, that comes through here,” she says, coming to stand next to him at the window. “And then it’s right next to my room so that makes things easier. I think I want the crib to go here,” she says, walking over to the opposite wall. Bellamy smiles wider as Clarke continues to ramble, losing herself in her vision. “Then maybe here I was even thinking of painting something since I’ve got nothing better to do. And...well, what do you think?”

At this point Bellamy knows he’s smiling ear to ear, but he makes no effort to hide it. “It’s perfect, Clarke.”

Clarke’s own smile mirrors his. “Now we just need to fill it. Paint it too. I’m not a fan of this strange gray my parents chose.”

Bellamy glances around the room, the visions from Clarke’s artist mind filling the room in his own imagination. He imagines sitting in a rocking chair with his son or daughter in his arms as the sun sets through the window. Even with the uncertainty of all the things they still don’t have figured out, this image alone is enough to chase away his nerves, joy settling in its place.

“We should go though,” Clarke says, breaking him from his reverie. When he looks up at her, she’s glancing at her phone. “It’s already eleven.”

“Yeah, I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright let me grab my jacket from my room and we’re good to go,” she tells him, heading back into the hallway. Bellamy follows on her heels, giving the future nursery one more glance.

As excited as it makes him, it does act as a reminder that they still need to have the possibly awkward conversation about custody and living situations. He knows the baby will need to live primarily at the Griffins in the beginning and the thought of being away from his future kid already makes his heart ache. But he also knows that Clarke will make sure that he’s welcome at the house whenever he wants to be. Still, it’ll be hard not truly being here at all times with her. It’ll be hard knowing that his home isn’t the same one as his child’s. 

Bellamy hovers at the doorway when Clarke opens the door to the room next to the nursery and goes inside. 

“You can come in,” Clarke laughs, apparently sensing his hesitation. 

“The princess’s chambers,” he teases, stepping into the room. “It’s an honor.”

“Don’t be an ass,” she scolds him, but he can see how she bites down a smile. 

“Ugh, I thought it was on my bed, hold on,” Clarke says, moving over to her closet in search of her jacket. 

Bellamy can’t help but smile as he glances around her room. In this polished and prim house, defined by modern decor and varying shades of neutral colors, Clarke’s room is that of an artist in rebellion. Her bedspread has a mandala design, bursting with color, and her off-white walls are covered with her own paintings and drawings, along with what he assumes are those of her favorite artists. There are even sections of her walls it looks like she directly painted on.

“What?” Clarke asks, giving him a hesitant smile as she pulls on her jacket. 

“It’s like one of your sketchbooks exploded in here,” Bellamy laughs. “It’s great, I love it.”

Clarke elbows him before walking past him. “And what do you know about my sketchbooks?” she asks as they make their way back down the hallway. 

“Oh I’m just familiar with the pictures scattered around my house for the last five years, not to mention watching you draw at our kitchen table nearly every weekend.”

“_ Watching _ me draw?” Clarke teases, gripping the railing as she makes her way down the stairs. He has to resist the urge to help her down them, knowing it’ll just irritate her and do more harm than good.

“You know what I mean,” he counters, thankful that she’s in front of him and can’t see the way his cheeks flush at the slip of the tongue.

A few minutes later, Bellamy pulls out of the Griffins’ driveway. Clarke sits in the passenger seat, reviewing a master shopping list they put together. 

“What about Lucius, for a boy?” Bellamy wonders aloud as he pulls out of the development and onto the main road. 

Clarke sighs. “Does the baby _ have _ to have a name connected to the roman empire?”

“You like Octavia’s name,” he points out.

“Well, I can’t say it isn’t fitting,” she admits, going back to her list. 

Before Bellamy can respond, Clarke grabs his arm. “Bellamy, pull over!”

His heart slams in his chest. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice drenched in fear as he tries to make his way over to the right lane.

“Pull over, pull over!” she yells, slapping his arm and nearly in hysterics.

_ Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong _. He tries his best not to panic behind the wheel as he pulls over to shoulder. 

“What happened?” he asks breathlessly, turning to Clarke once he puts the car in park. “Do we need to call-”

Bellamy stops talking when she grabs his hand and lifts her sweater, placing his hand over her swollen belly. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want you to miss it,” she murmurs.

Right as she says it, Bellamy feels a small jab under his hand. The two of them remain quiet, their breathing the only sound in the car. 

Bellamy shifts his hand across her skin and feels another jab. He smiles giddily and looks up at Clarke. He almost tells her about the second kick, before he remembers that she’s feeling everything he is. When he looks up at her, he finds her eyes already on his. 

Another jab brings his attention back to her stomach. He cautiously runs his hand across her stomach and she shivers in response. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Cold hands?”

There’s a beat of silence before she gives him a quick nod. 

“I read that they can respond to sound after 25 weeks,” he tells her. Clarke’s own hand rests on her stomach next to his. 

“You really liked the name Lucius, didn’t you?” Bellamy says to her stomach. 

When Bellamy feels another jab under his hand, they both burst into laughter. 

“Don’t you dare use this as an argument for that name,” she laughs. Her hand moves across her stomach, fingers briefly brushing against his. 

Bellamy removes his hand from her stomach a few minutes later when he stops feeling the little kicks poking under Clarke’s skin. He lets out a huge sigh as he slumps back against his seat. 

“You scared the absolute shit out of me, Clarke.”

“Sorry,” Clarke laughs, a little breathless as she pulls down her sweater. “You kept missing it, I know you wanted to feel it.”

“Well, thank you,” he answers sincerely as he pulls back onto the main road.

“Of course.”

“So Lucius is definitely back on the table for a boy then?”

“No!” she laughs, slapping his arm. “It’s officially _ off _ the table. The baby doesn’t get a vote.”

\--∞--

Bellamy can tell that Clarke is exhausted by the time they return to her house hours later at nearly six o’clock. She tries to pretend like she’s not and even insists on carrying some of the lighter bags inside, but he can see right through her facade. A few minutes later, they both collapse onto the couch. Hell, even he’s pretty exhausted.

“I think we need to start putting together the nursery,” Clarke says with a yawn. “So we can start putting everything in there.”

“Well we have the paint now, I can get started on it the next time I’m over.”

“Okay,” Clarke nods, breaking into another yawn. She curls up on one end of the couch, hand on her stomach, and closes her eyes. 

Bellamy smiles at her. The sight of her like this, vulnerable and content, makes his heart rise up in his throat. He knows he should ask if he should leave or at the very least offer to make her some dinner, but he doesn’t want anything about this moment to shift in the slightest. Instead, he pulls a throw blanket off the back of the couch and covers Clarke before grabbing a baby book off the coffee table. The more he reads these books, the more he realizes how much he _ doesn’t _ know anything. But he still reads them. He figures if only a couple things stick, no matter how nervous it all makes him, then it’s worth it. 

He doesn’t think he’s been reading for more than twenty minutes, Clarke still sleeping soundly beside him, when the front door opens. Bellamy tenses, wondering what parent has come home. He thinks he must visibly relax when Abby walks into the living room.

She glances at Clarke and gives Bellamy a knowing smile. 

“Hi, Bellamy,” she greets him in a quiet voice, moving over to Clarke and pulling the blanket over Clarke’s shoulders from where it slid off slightly. 

“Hey, Abby,” he answers just as quietly, closing the book. “Sorry, I was just heading out.”

Abby shakes her head. “No one is kicking you out, Bellamy,” she says, letting out a little laugh. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, this is as good as your home now too.”

“Thanks.” He relaxes back against the couch again, book still in his hand. 

“Did you two eat?” Abby asks, straightening up some books and papers on the coffee table that he hadn’t noticed.

“No, not yet-” he starts, but is cut off by Abby’s sigh. She’s holding up a paper that Bellamy can now see is one of Clarke’s sketches.

“She was supposed to be studying earlier so that she doesn’t fall behind when she goes back to school,” Abby tuts, still looking at the drawing. “She gets distracted too easily, I can’t keep a pencil out of her hand.”

“She’s really talented,” Bellamy offers, confused at how Abby could find anything negative about Clarke’s art. 

“Oh, I know it,” Abby says. “But it’s a distracting hobby.”

“Clarke’s work is more than just a hobby,” Bellamy counters.

“Clarke needs a more stable career, especially now.” Abby says it matter-of-factly, almost kindly. He knows it isn’t a dig. He’s learning quickly that Abby is logical like her daughter, maybe even more so. 

“Clarke should follow her passion, I can take care of them,” he insists.

Bellamy half expects Abby to argue with him, or even laugh. Instead, she raises her eyebrows and smiles, face almost amused. “I know you will, Bellamy.”

“Jake is working late tonight,” Abby tells him, gathering Clarke’s drawings and other books into her arms. “Why don’t the three of us order some takeout?”

Bellamy smiles. “That sounds great.”

“Great, I’ll go call for Grounders.” She leaves the living room, hands full of Clarke’s papers. 

Bellamy looks over at Clarke, who is still sleeping soundly, and wonders how anyone could ever doubt Clarke’s ability to do anything at all that she sets her mind to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember I gave you this when we return to the present next chapter...


	17. Be Still and Know That I'm With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So sorry it's taken so long for an update. I'm going to post the first chapter of a new fic next but I'll be teleworking and fully practicing social distancing, so I think I'll still be able to get you the next chapter for ABOY somewhat quickly. 
> 
> Everyone please stay safe out there and hang in there. 
> 
> Chapter title is from 'Be Still' by the Fray.

Bellamy wipes his clammy palms on his jeans as they walk into the ER. Just as he’s scanning the room for a familiar shade of blonde, his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

“Is that Clarke?” Octavia asks from beside him, leaning over to see his phone screen. 

** _Clarke: _ ** _ Just parked, be right in _

Bellamy sighs when he reads it, running a nervous hand through his hair. His stomach is in knots. 

“Let’s sit down, c’mon,” Aurora says, a hand on the backs of each of her children as she pushes them towards the seats in the waiting area. Bellamy only lasts about thirty seconds in the hard plastic chair before he’s up again, pacing in the small area. 

It was only forty minutes ago that Clarke called him in tears. He could barely understand her but he was already getting dressed, already heading out the door at the words  _ Dad, accident, hospital _ . He called his mom and Octavia and picked them up on the way. They’re Jake’s family too, after all.

It isn’t a minute later that Bellamy watches Clarke rush into the waiting room, Cillian on her heels. She passes by the Blakes on her way to the front desk, not noticing them. Bellamy hurries over to meet them at the desk, his mom and Octavia following close behind. 

“I’m here to see Jake Griffin,” she tells the receptionist. She isn’t crying, but Bellamy can hear the unstable quality to her voice. Like she’s pushing down the hysteria and it’s only a matter of time.

“Let me see, hon,” the older woman tells her, typing something into her computer. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy greets her quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder to let her know that they’re there. She turns quickly to look at him, as does Cillian. 

“Hi,” she tells him, voice broken and eyes glossy and fearful. Cillian nods at him and Bellamy does the same.

“Looks like he’s still in surgery,” the receptionist replies. “You guys can have a seat over there.” She nods towards the waiting area.

Clarke’s whole body visibly tenses. “No I- I need to see my dad,” Clarke insists.

The receptionist looks at her with sympathetic eyes and Cillian tries to whisper something to her. Bellamy doesn’t catch what, but she shrugs him off. “My mom is Ab-  _ Dr. _ Abby Griffin. Can you call her?”

“I know who you are, hon, but he’s still in surgery. They’ll come get you when there’s an update.”

“I know, but if I could just-” she stutters, choking on the last word. Aurora pushes her way to the front of the desk next to Clarke. 

She murmurs something quietly to Clarke, but Bellamy can’t hear what. Clarke bites down on her lip, a tear escaping, but nods a moment later and lets Aurora take her hand. She guides Clarke to one of the waiting chairs and keeps Clarke’s hand clasped between hers, even when they sit down. Cillian takes the seat on Clarke’s other side, looking incredibly unsure of himself. Bellamy and Octavia take two seats across from them. 

Bellamy looks at Clarke, feeling his own heart breaking at her fear, her pain. Not that he doesn’t have his own fear about the situation. 

“Lucie?” Bellamy asks Cillian quietly, tearing his eyes from Clarke.

“Raven is with her at the house,” Cillian answers. 

Bellamy nods, leaning back in the chair, fingers drumming nervously on his thigh. Octavia is uncharacteristically quiet but tense beside him. 

He doesn’t know exactly how much time passes as they all sit there, no one saying a word. Eventually, Abby and another doctor come through the double doors into the waiting room. Abby is dressed in plain clothes and has bloodshot eyes. The doctor beside her is in scrubs, a mask around her neck. Abby stands stoically and Bellamy guesses she’s trying to hold everything in, hold it all together. Just like her daughter. 

Clarke stands immediately, running into her mother’s arms. Abby holds her tight, only letting her go so that the doctor can speak. The rest of them stand.

“I’m Dr. Tsing,” she starts. “Jake is out of surgery, but he’s in critical condition and hasn’t woken up yet. It’s been touch and go and we’re hoping for the best, but you guys should prepare yourself.” Her voice is gentle and sympathetic, but it does nothing to ease anyone’s anxiety. 

“Only family is allowed in at this time,” the doctor adds, eyes sweeping over the group.

“We’re all family,” Octavia says. 

“Well, three at a time then,” she clarifies. 

Bellamy takes a step towards Clarke and Abby out of instinct, because of course he would go with them. Of course he would follow Clarke, wherever she goes, and make sure she’s okay. Of course he would go see Jake, the closest thing to a father he’s ever had. 

But then Cillian steps forward at the same time. Bellamy pauses, a lump in his throat at the realization that his presence is no longer a given. 

“Sorry,” Bellamy apologizes, nodding ahead. “You go.”

“No, go,” Cillian insists, stepping back to join Aurora and Octavia. 

Bellamy murmurs a thanks and follows Dr. Tsing, Abby, and Clarke through the doors. 

\--∞--

Clarke follows on the heels of her mother and Dr. Tsing, walking down hallway after hallway until they make it to the intensive care unit. She can feel Bellamy close behind her and in a strange way, she feels like it helps her breathe steadily. Still, the lump in her throat won’t go away. She doesn’t want to cry in this hallway, in this hospital, in front of all these strangers. She swallows hard and bites her bottom lip, blinking back the tears that keep resurfacing. 

It’s ironic, how it was just yesterday that her father brought her to the ocean because he felt like she was bottling things up. She wishes she could bottle things up now. Instead, she feels like she can hardly keep anything in, like everything inside her might spill out in an instant, without permission or warning. 

They finally make it to Jake’s room and when Dr. Tsing opens the door for them, the sight of her father frightens her. She’s only ever known her father as strong - the kind, but firm protector of her family. Of her friends even. He looks weak now, she thinks as she makes her way over to the side of the bed. She curls her hands into fists, hoping it stops them from shaking. He looks too fragile, hooked up to different tubes she doesn’t understand, his face littered with cuts.

Clarke sits down on a cold plastic chair on the side of the bed furthest from the door, moving it as close as possible to the bed. She sees her mom run a hand through her father’s hair and throw the other hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. Clarke takes her father’s hand between her own as tears escape, one by one, steadily streaming down her face. 

“You’re going to be okay,” she murmurs. “You’re going to be fine.”

Her father doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as twitch at her words, but she immediately feels Bellamy’s warm hand on her shoulder, anchoring her to Earth, holding her together when she can’t manage it on her own. She lets go of her father’s hand with one of hers and places it over Bellamy’s, still on her shoulder. Nobody moves for a while. Clarke can’t tell for how long. She knows that at some point she removes her hand from Bellamy’s and holds her father’s between hers again. She knows her mother drags a chair over to the opposite side of the bed and sits beside him like Clarke does. Still, Bellamy stands behind her, hand on her shoulder. 

Then the beeping starts. 

Doctors rush into the room, pushing Clarke and Bellamy out of the way, but she doesn’t move far. Her mother seems to know to stay away and stands against the wall next to the door with a shaky hand covering her mouth. 

“What happened?” Clarke asks, voice cracking. “What’s wrong?”

“Ma’am, please,” a doctor asks, pushing her further aside. 

“No wait,” Clarke tries, moving towards her father again, even as several doctors and nurses crowd him. When she tries to take another step towards the doctors, she feels arms around her waist holding her back, locking her in. They pull her further away, to the wall in front of her father’s bed. 

“Bellamy,  _ stop _ ,” she hisses, clawing at his forearms. “What’s wrong with him?” she asks again, but the doctors don’t hear her. All their attention is on her father, who seems to be slipping through their fingers before Clarke can even comprehend that as a possibility. 

“Clarke, honey,” Abby says, shaking her head, warning her to stay back. Bellamy’s arms remain locked around her and the beeping continues. She thinks it grows louder, although she isn’t sure if she’s imagining that. 

Then they pull out the defibrillator, and Clarke feels like she’s in a dream. 

_ This isn’t happening. _

“What’s happening?” she asks. Her voice is small, childlike. No one answers her, they just call numbers and words to each other that Clarke doesn’t understand. Tears flow freely down her face; she doesn’t try to keep them in anymore.

She struggles against Bellamy again, making one last attempt to go to her father. She needs to hold his hand, she needs to make it better, she needs…

Bellamy’s arms remain locked around her middle, nearly dragging her further from her father’s bed. She hates him in this moment. “Stop, stop,” she cries. “Please, let me go,” she begs. “I need- I need him,” she sobs. 

Clarke gives up, collapses against him as he holds her tighter, bearing her weight. A moment later, he turns her so that her cheek is pressed against his chest as she sobs, her view of her father obscured. Her ear is pressed to Bellamy’s chest and she can hear his heart beat, somehow steadying her even though it’s beating as quickly as hers must be. It blends with the sound of the machine flatlining, which is the only medical language Clarke does understand. She sobs harder into Bellamy, nearly choking on them as they violently wrack her body. She can feel Bellamy’s own tears on her forehead when he presses his face against her, but he still holds her steady. 

_ This is all wrong. This isn’t- this isn’t allowed. This isn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.  _

She’s in disbelief as the doctors talk to her mother, comforting their coworker. Abby comes over a minute later, tears streaming down her face but not yet sobbing like Clarke. She’s probably trying to hold herself together like she does during any crisis. But this is different. 

“Mom?” she asks in a broken voice, finally pulling away from Bellamy. This time he lets her go, and she folds into her mother’s arms. Her mother hugs her tightly, murmuring reassurances in her ear.

“We need to say goodbye, Clarke.”

Clarke gulps in air, her sobs growing quiet. “I can’t. He can’t be…”

She turns to Bellamy, whose own eyes are wet with tears. He rubs a hand across his face, wiping them away, but more replace them. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” her mom says again, this time letting herself truly cry. “I’m sorry, honey, but he’s gone.”

\--∞--

Clarke ducks her head closer to the sink, splashing cold water on her face. A sort of numbness has settled over her and she can’t help but think of a quote that stuck with her from childhood. 

_ “If you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you - you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.” _

It was from Clarke’s favorite childhood book series, the Chronicles of Narnia. How many nights had she spent in bed, listening to her father’s soothing voice as he read to her? Then, when she was older, she would read to him as practice. She stumbled over so many words, but he never did anything but encourage her.

That’s how Clarke feels right now. Emptied of tears, a terrible quietness in her. She feels as if nothing will ever happen again. Because how can it? How can anything happen without her dad? She sucks in a deep breath before she walks out of the single occupancy bathroom, feeling a familiar calmness drape over her. She can do this. She needs to be strong for her mother, she needs to be strong for her daughter.  _ Lucie _ . She needs to tell her, somehow, without scarring her. She needs to plan a funeral. There’s so many things she needs to do, so many reasons she can’t afford to fall apart.

Bellamy is waiting for her in the hallway, leaning against the wall and looking like he’s aged ten years in a few hours. He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

“My mom is dealing with all the hospital stuff, we have to go tell them.”

She begins to walk away from him, leading the way back to the waiting room, but he pulls her back by her arm. 

“Clarke…”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine, we just- we have to deal with this.”

Bellamy looks at her with clear worry in his eyes, but after a beat, lets go of her arm and nods at her to lead the way.

\--∞--

Clarke stares out the window numbly, not taking in any of the houses and buildings they pass as they make their way back to her house.

“Hey,” Cillian says softly, putting a hand on her leg. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Clarke replies quickly. “Just worried about Lucie.”

“Clarke, you can’t possibly be fine.”

“Cillian, please.”

“Clarke, don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not shutting you  _ out _ ,” she snaps, suddenly exasperated with him. She doesn’t need him poking holes in whatever strength she’s managed to gather. She can’t afford that, not when she has to be whole for Lucie. 

Cillian sighs, sounding exasperated, which just irritates her more.

“You know, I don’t think that you should come in. I don’t want everyone overwhelming Lucie.”

Cillian looks at her with eyebrows raised, clearly shocked. “Clarke I’m going to be Lucie’s stepfather. I want her to be comfortable around me, especially in moments like this.”

“Just- can you just let it go today?”

Cillian tightens his hold on the steering wheel as he pulls onto Clarke’s street. “This is what I mean. You  _ are _ shutting me out. You’re afraid,” he tries, voice more gentle this time.

“Well, if you’re so convinced of that then maybe I do need some space.”

Cillian looks at her in disbelief, and she can barely blame him. The truth is, every single thing he’s saying is true. She’s running scared, because she can’t handle another unknown factor in her life. She’s surprised to realize that he does still feel like an unknown factor to her, even as she wears his ring. 

“Clarke, don’t do this. Don’t run,” he says, his own voice cracking as he pulls into her driveway.

Her voice softens, the irritation draining from her, but the fear still present. She twists the ring around on her finger, looking down at her lap as a tear escapes. She quickly wipes it away, swallows the rest.

“Clarke I love you. I  _ know  _ you. I know you’re scared, but you’re going to wake up tomorrow or in a week or in a month, and realize you’re making a mistake.” He sounds breathless.

She twists the ring around on her finger, pulling it off and holding it in her open palm. His hand moves to cover hers, closing her hand, before she can say anything. “Don’t you dare give me that back. Not now. Not unless you’re absolutely certain, not unless you absolutely mean it. If you give me that ring back, there’s no going back, Clarke.”

Clarke swallows, looking up at her house. She can see Raven through the window with Lucie, and Bellamy who must have beaten her to the house. 

“I’m sorry, I just need some space,” she insists in a shaky voice, clasping the ring tightly in her closed palm. She climbs out of the car before he can answer, ring still in her hand. He doesn’t leave until she closes the front door behind her. 

\--∞--

Bellamy and Raven sit on opposite ends of the couch, watching Lucie color a picture on the coffee table. When Clarke walks in, Bellamy waits for Cillian to follow, but he never does. When he furrows his eyebrows at her, she gives him a slight shake of her head.  _ Not now _ . 

“Hi baby, what are you drawing?” Clarke asks Lucie, sitting on the ground beside her at the coffee table. Her voice sounds odd to him. Strained. Masked.

“A dog,” Lucie says, not looking up from her drawing. “Because you said we can’t have one so I’m drawing all the stuff we could do with one.”

Clarke looks up at Bellamy and Raven, giving them a sad smile. That’s the kind of thing that would ordinarily crack them up. Bellamy has an enormous pit in his stomach. He can’t even imagine the next time they might be laughing. It feels wrong, like this is all a cruel joke. But Jake is  _ gone _ . Truly gone, just like that. He can barely fathom it himself, and now they have to explain it to their daughter. 

Bellamy clears his throat. “Luce, can you come up here with us? We have to talk to you about something.”

Lucie climbs onto the couch next to Bellamy and Clarke follows, sitting between Lucie and Raven. Bellamy sees Raven give Clarke’s leg a comforting squeeze, but Clarke doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Is someone else getting married?” Lucie asks.

“No, no one else is getting married, sweetheart,” Bellamy starts. 

How do they do this? It’s the first time he feels totally unprepared as a parent, even with Clarke beside him.

“Luce, do you remember when your friend Charlotte had to miss a few days of school because her Grandma died?” Clarke asks tentatively. “Do you remember our talk about that?”

Lucie nods. Bellamy waits for her to continue, but she bites her lip, like she can’t. 

“Well, honey,” Bellamy starts, taking over. He has to say it. It’s the least he can do for Clarke. “There was an accident this morning and the doctors tried their best, but Papa died today.” 

Clarke surprises him by squeezing his arm that’s thrown around the back of the couch. He’s not sure if it’s in thanks or for comfort, but it doesn’t really matter. 

Lucie is quiet for a minute, like she’s thinking. Bellamy catches Raven’s sad eyes, shining with her own unshed tears. 

“Do you understand, Luce?” Clarke asks softly, tentatively. 

“He’s not coming back?” Lucie asks. Her words are a punch to the gut, but he can’t fall apart. Not when Clarke needs him. 

“No, he’s not coming back,” Bellamy confirms. Clarke bites down on her bottom lip again. 

“Do I get to say bye?” Lucie asks. 

Clarke visibly shudders as tears begin streaming down her face again, the question breaking open something in her. 

“No, honey. I’m sorry,” Clarke says.

Bellamy can see Lucie’s own tears shining in her brown eyes. “Hey, it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry, like Mom, because we’re all very sad and are going to miss him a lot. We miss him so much because we all loved him so much.” 

Lucie buries herself further into Bellamy’s side as she begins to cry, Bellamy stroking her hair and Clarke rubbing soothing circles into her back with her free hand. Raven wraps her arms around Clarke and Clarke squeezes his forearm tighter. It’s only then that he realizes she isn’t wearing her engagement ring. 

\--∞--

The Griffins have five days to plan Jake’s funeral, which hardly seems like enough time given the event it’s turning out to be. Bellamy forgot that Jake came from old money. His parents, both alive and well, insisted upon on a large funeral. With the addition of Jake’s colleagues from Eligius, Abby was pressured into planning a bigger funeral and wake than the delinquents thought Jake would have really wanted. Still, that was Abby’s and Clarke’s decision and the only thing the Blakes and delinquents could do was support them in any way they would accept.

They all assist with the planning the best they can, calling for flowers and caterers. Bellamy focuses on Lucie and tries to let Clarke relax, but unsurprisingly, she doesn’t make it easy. She insists she’s fine when Bellamy brings over dinner or brings her a coffee to work, nearly irritated at his attempts to help.

The days pass, and still no one learns what happened between her and Cillian. The ring is missing from her hand, but she won’t talk about it. Raven tried to dig for more information after Bellamy and Octavia insisted that the two of them seemed okay at the hospital. Nobody understood what happened.

_ “We’re just taking some space, a break,” Clarke huffed. “Why is that so hard to understand?” _

_ “You can’t be serious,” Raven argued. “He isn’t a fling, he’s your fiance. You just decided to take a break the day you lost your dad? That’s insane.” _

_ “Raven, enough! I don’t want to talk about it!” Clarke snapped.  _

No one had asked her about it since. It didn’t feel right to push her on it, not now. They just needed to get through the funeral, and then they would try talking to her again. 

On the eve of the funeral, a little after seven, Bellamy walks into Clarke’s house with food he prepared at his apartment. He knows that she’s taking care of Lucie, but he’s certain that she isn’t taking care of herself. She doesn’t eat enough when she’s stressed.

He finds Lucie in the living room, curled up with a blanket watching  _ Mulan _ . 

“Hi Daddy,” she says, not moving. 

“Hey, kiddo. Where’s Mom?”

Lucie points to the kitchen, eyes still glued to the TV. 

Bellamy finds Clarke sitting at the kitchen island on one of the stools, her laptop opened and a glass of red wine next to it. 

“What’s that?” she asks by way of greeting, barely looking up at him from whatever she’s typing.

“Dinner,” he says, setting the covered dish down. 

“Lucie already ate,” she says without looking at him. He takes her in, noting the gray half moons under her eyes.

“But I’m guessing you didn’t,” he comments, turning on her stove.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Humor me.”

Clarke doesn’t answer, just looks back at her computer and continues typing. 

“Are you still dealing with funeral stuff?” he asks, confused given the late hour.

“No, it’s stuff for the gallery. Lincoln’s showcase will be here before we know it, I don’t want to give Dante a reason to complain.”

Bellamy shakes his head at her. “Clarke, you shouldn’t be working. That can wait.”

“And what should I be doing? Staring at a wall while I wallow?”

“No, you should be eating my homemade mac and cheese while you watch  _ Mulan _ ,” he says, putting the dish into the oven. “C’mon, Clarke,” he tries, shutting her laptop and taking it from her. 

“Bellamy!” 

“Clarke, you need to relax.”

“Bellamy, you can leave if you’re going to treat me like a child,” she glares. He can see in her eyes that she’s truly mad at him. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s my house, you are if I say you are.”

“Clarke,” he says, voice softer this time. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you fighting?” 

They both turn to see Lucie standing at the kitchen doorway, holding the blanket from the couch.

“Nope,” Bellamy says, moving to scoop her up in his arms. “Mom was just saying she’s going to come watch the movie with us.” He doesn’t wait for Clarke’s response before taking Lucie back to the living room. He thinks that Clarke may still not come in, but she joins them a few minutes later, without a word to him. 

The three of them sit together for the next hour, Lucie laying with her head on a pillow on Bellamy’s lap and Clarke on her other side. Bellamy brings Clarke a small bowl of mac and cheese and she eats it, however reluctantly. He looks over at her when the movie ends. She looks beyond exhausted. 

“Go get some rest, I’ll put Lucie to bed,” he tells her. To his surprise, she doesn’t fight him and just nods, an empty look in her eyes. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” she says once Lucie sits up, blinking her own tired eyes. “Dad’s going to tuck you in.” She pauses before adding, “Are you sure you want to go tomorrow? You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Lucie says without hesitation. Clarke pauses again, taking Lucie’s face in her hands after a beat and kissing the top of her head. “I love you so much, my angel. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Mom,” she says, yawning. 

Clarke doesn’t say anything more to Bellamy before she leaves the room. 

As Bellamy helps Lucie get into the bath and get ready for bed, he hears the shower in the master bathroom going for about twenty minutes before it turns off. Still, Clarke’s bedroom door remains mostly closed, opened only crack. 

Bellamy finds Lucie’s outfit for the funeral in her closet while she brushes her teeth and lays it out on the chair for tomorrow. Thankfully Lucie is tired enough that she falls right asleep without requesting any story. He quietly closes her door and looks down the hall towards Clarke’s room. A dim light is coming from it.

“Clarke?” he asks, knocking once on the door. She doesn’t answer, and he opens the door wider.

She sits up from where she was lying down on the bed. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she says, but her voice is all wrong and her eyes are red. She’s wearing an old Eligius company sweatshirt that he knows must be Jake’s, her hair damp and messy.

“Clarke,” he tries, voice soft. Her tears start falling silently, as if they’re leaking out of her one by one. She just lays back down with a sigh. 

Bellamy climbs onto the other side of the bed and lays on his side, facing her but leaving a few feet between them. “You don’t have to hold it in,” he whispers. He reaches across the distance between them to wipe away a tear that’s trailing down her cheek before bringing his hands back under his head. 

“Yes, I do,” she whispers. 

“Not with me,” he counters, voice still quiet. “Let me be your ocean,” he adds, after a beat. 

Clarke looks up at him, her mouth half opened in surprise, before recognition washes over her. “My dad told you about that,” she says with a watery laugh. Bellamy gives her a small smile, weighed down with grief.

“He really loved you, more than anything.”

“I know,” Clarke whispers. She closes her eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath. “Will you stay?” she asks when she opens them. 

“Of course.”

Clarke leans over to turn off the lamp on her bedside table. In the dark, he feels her shift until she curls into his side, cheek against his chest. He wraps his arm around her, lightly rubbing her back. She lets out a shuddery breath, the kind you breathe after crying for a long time. When he feels her breathing even out, he lets himself drift off too. 

\--∞--

Sometime in the earliest hours of the morning, Bellamy wakes to a purple gray sky, before even the birds have woken. The shadows of the room’s contents contrast with the indigo light coming through Clarke’s windows. 

Somehow in the night, they had shifted so that they ended up spooning, Clarke’s back pressed against his chest and his top arm wrapped protectively around her waist. 

_ Shit _ , he thinks. He shifts, moving further from her and attempting to remove his arm from her. He realizes she’s awake when she pulls his arm back, holding it tight around her waist like it was before.

“Please, don’t leave,” she whispers. 

The vulnerability in her voice breaks his heart several times over. “Hey, never, Clarke. Never,” he promises, pulling her flush against him again and keeping his arm wrapped around her waist as if he can physically hold her together. As if he can single handedly keep her from falling apart.

Still half asleep, without giving it any thought, he tries to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. In the dark he misses, instead pressing one to her neck, under her ear. He feels her shiver against him.

“Bellamy,” she whispers. His name sounds like a question, the uncertainty in her voice clear. He’s probably made her uncomfortable. Now, of all times.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t-” He stops talking when she intertwines her fingers with his that are wrapped around her. His heart beats wildly, but when he says nothing else, she slides both their hands under her sweatshirt so that his palm is pressed against the warm skin of her stomach. Her hand remains on top of his. He wishes he could see her face, have any clue as to what she might be thinking.

“Clarke,” he starts, voice rough. He isn’t even sure what he means to say.

“Please, Bellamy. I can’t. It hurts, it- I just want to feel something else, I just want to forget.” The desperation in her voice makes him ache. 

“Clarke, we can’t. I…” How does he tell her how badly he wants her, how much he wants  _ this _ , but without the shadow of grief over them.  _ Not like this _ , is all he can think. But then she strokes his forearm and he knows he’s lost to her. He knows he’ll do anything to ease her pain. Even if it’s temporary, even if it’ll cost him dearly. Even if it means any slim chance of getting over her will be lost forever.

“Bell,” she whispers again, still waiting for him to finish his response. 

He answers her by brushing his lips across her neck, this time purposefully, and gently stroking her stomach. Her breath catching makes his stomach flutter. He wants to take his time with her. He wants her to feel so good that she forgets the hole in her heart, if only momentarily. He wants to memorize every piece of her, if this is all he ever gets.

He begins pressing slow, open mouth kisses down her neck. His hand leaves her stomach, stroking down her side and legging-covered thigh. When he can’t take it anymore, he climbs over her, caging her in and finally looking into her eyes for the first time since she started this. She holds his gaze, looking some combination of vulnerable and broken, of desperate and tender. When he presses the first kiss to her lips, he takes his time, swiping his tongue across her bottom lip until she opens up for him. His hands stroke her bare sides under her sweatshirt, finally moving high enough that he reaches her breasts. As his mouth explores hers, their tongues in a slow dance, his thumbs swipe across her nipples. He’s surprised to find that they’re already hard. 

Bellamy only breaks away to remove her sweatshirt, needing more of her immediately. He moves to kiss her neck again but she stops him in order to lift off his t-shirt first. He lowers her back down and while her hands explore the muscles of his back, holding him close to her, his mouth moves to her breasts. She arches her back, whimpering when he takes a nipple in his mouth. He’s pretty much been hard since the moment this started, but the sounds he’s eliciting from her make his cock twitch. 

Once he kisses his way back up her chest and neck, he gives her a single peck on her lips before sitting up to help her out of her leggings. She lifts her hips as he pulls them down and off of her, looking at him with dark eyes. She isn’t wearing underwear and he suddenly finds himself overwhelmed by the sight of her. Beautiful, perfect, and completed naked in front of him.  _ For  _ him. 

Bellamy runs his hands up her thighs that spread apart for him as he kisses her again. She threads her fingers through his curls, holding onto him and gently pulling him impossibly closer. He doesn’t know how long that goes on, but eventually he pulls away and off of her. Their shallow breaths fill the room, but still, neither says anything. Not a word, not a whisper, not even the other’s name. It’s as if speaking might pop this strange dreamlike bubble they’ve wrapped themselves in.

Bellamy takes off his jeans before grabbing onto Clarke from under he knees and pulling her to the edge of the bed. She lets out a gasp but says nothing else, her breath growing heavier as he kisses his way up her thighs. Every time he’s been with her, her body has been different. He presses a kiss to each stretch mark, savoring the opportunity to know her once again, wishing there was a day when he could know her inside and out. Bellamy can hear her suck in a breath when he lets out a breath against her center, right before he swipes his tongue over her folds. She moans and he presses a kiss to her clit before swiping his tongue across it. 

When she moans and bunches up the comforter in her fists, it only encourages him. He swipes his tongue across her clit relentlessly, until she’s panting, and surprises her by pressing a finger into her. One finger becomes two and he pumps into her, crooking them, never letting up with his mouth. The memory of making Clarke fall apart with his fingers in the bathroom all those years ago washes over him at the same time she falls apart now, throwing a hand to her mouth to muffle her moans. He sucks the taste of her off his fingers before climbing further onto the bed with her. His cock strains against his boxers as he kisses her again, hands everywhere on her body so that he doesn’t miss an inch of her. He kisses her once more before pulling away to look at her, the question in his eyes. She gives him a small nod, words unnecessary between them. He leans back and slips out of his boxers. 

_ This is how it’s supposed to be _ , he thinks as he lowers his naked body over hers. Skin to skin, worshipping each other. She opens her mouth in a whimper when his cock bumps her clit, still sensitive from minutes ago. He can’t wait any longer, no matter how long he wishes he could draw this out. They kiss messily, sloppily, but he doesn’t care and she doesn’t seem to either. He just wants to devour her. 

Bellamy rests his forehead against hers, letting out a groan as he pushes into her. She opens her mouth, letting out a small gasp, but their eyes never leave each others’. He pulls out slightly before pushing back into her, bottoming out in a single hard thrust that makes her hiss  _ Yes _ as she digs her nails into his back. Bellamy hopes it leaves a mark. 

Possessively gripping one of her legs with one hand and gently hanging onto her curls with his other, he lets out a groan as he thrusts into her again. She’s so tight and warm around him, he feels like he’s enveloped in some kind of bliss that could only ever exist with her. His body thrums with how much he loves her and he kisses her again, developing a steady rhythm that she quickly meets. 

They alternate between kissing each other and simply staring at each other, as if in awe, their faces never more than an inch apart. He gets off on the way her face twists in pleasure with each thrust, with each touch, and he can tell she feels the same. The wet slapping of their skin and her soft moans force him to move faster, despite how much he wishes this could go on forever.

When he does, it’s like something snaps in them. The silence breaks. 

“God, yes. Bell, please,” she begs, voice still quiet. Neither is so far gone that they’ve forgotten their daughter sleeping in the next room. 

“I got you, Princess. That’s it,” he murmurs into her ear, lips brushing her cheek. 

He can feel her tighten around him and groans. 

“Oh fuck, that’s it. Yes, Bell,” she pants. “Yes, yes, yes-”

She clenches around him, arching her back and nearly whimpering from the pleasure. He can feel the intensity of her orgasm, can feel her breasts press against his chest, and has no choice but to let go. He moans and kisses her again as he spills into her. 

Bellamy forces his lips to pull away from hers. It’s torturous knowing it might be the last time that his lips will ever capture hers, in shadows, under the cover of grief, in the strange time between night and morning. They look at each other for a moment longer, the uncertainty in her eyes reflecting his own feelings. 

_ What was that? _

_ What does it mean? _

_ Does it mean anything at all? _

He lets out a small grunt as he pulls out of her, rolling onto his back beside her. She remains still beside him, staring up at the ceiling like she’s in a trance. 

“Clarke,” he prompts.

She turns her head to look at him but he isn’t sure what she sees. 

“Let’s just - let’s go to sleep,” she says, climbing under the covers before he can respond.

“Do you...do you want me to leave?”

Clarke looks over her shoulder at him. “Of course not, Bell,” she says, voice softer this time. “C’mere,” she adds, inviting him under the covers with her. When he joins her, she moves closer to him, her back against his chest in the same position they were in before...before  _ that _ started. 

Bellamy wraps a hesitant arm around her waist, thinking it’s the right choice when she relaxes into him, placing her own arm over his. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, he falls asleep easily, reveling in the fact that Clarke is in his arms. 

\--∞--

It’s only when Bellamy wakes does guilt creep into him. He blinks his eyes open, hearing birds chirping outside, but it’s not completely light out yet. He’s alone in bed but he can hear the shower running in the master bedroom. Bellamy can’t shake the idea that he somehow took advantage of Clarke’s grief. He should have told her no. He should have held her in her arms while she cried and left it at that.

Bellamy rubs his eyes, reaching for her phone on the bedside table to check the time. Nearly 7am. He needs to get up, if only because Lucie will be up soon and this isn’t something he has any desire to field questions about. It’s only when he sets the phone back on the table does he see Clarke’s engagement ring sitting there. He swallows, feeling even more uncertain than he did minutes ago. The shower shuts off as Bellamy climbs out of bed. He’s pulling on his jeans, still shirtless, when Clarke comes into the room wrapped in a towel with damp hair.

Bellamy can’t read the look she gives him. 

“Morning,” she says quietly, turning and opening her dresser before he can respond.

“Morning,” he answers. “Should we…” he trails off, hoping she’ll get the cue.

“No,” she says sharply. “I- I just need to get through today.” 

“Of course.”

“And I know…” she trails off, finally turning to face him. “I know what it was.”

“Clarke-” he starts, but barely gets her name out before he hears the footsteps outside the door. He drops to the hardwood floor in record time, a millisecond before the door swings open without warning. He grits his teeth at the pain, guessing he’ll probably have bruises on his elbows tomorrow.

“Mom, is it time to get ready?” Lucie asks. 

“Luce,” Clarke greets her breathlessly. “We have a few hours, honey. Why don’t you go watch TV and I’ll be out in a minute to get you some breakfast.”

Lucie nods sleepily, rubbing her eyes and heading back down the hallway. Bellamy waits for the sound of the door clicking shut before he pops his head up, remaining on his knees with his arms on the bed and chin on his arms. Despite the tension from just minutes ago, they both break into small smiles. 

“Close call,” Bellamy quips.

Clarke lets out a nervous laugh that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “We need to get you out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who commented on past chapters, something along the lines of "I'm so glad Jake is alive in this fic" I sincerely apologize...BUT at least we have the flashback chapters right?


	18. If You Wanna Say Something, Silence Don't Mean Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I was blown away by the response to the last chapter. Thanks everyone so much for reading, I appreciate all the comments and love hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the song 'Silence' by Grace Carter.

**~ 6 1/2 Years Ago**

“Are you nervous?” Bellamy asks, glancing at her from the waiting room chair next to hers. 

“No,” Clarke answers quickly, running a restless hand over her ever-growing bump. “Well, a little,” she admits. “But I don’t know why. It’s not like it  _ matters _ if we’re having a boy or girl.”

“No. Just makes it more real, I guess.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” Clarke agrees. 

It was Friday and they were waiting to be called for their seven-month appointment. Clarke was definitely excited to find out what they were having. But, Bellamy was right. It did make it feel much more real. A reminder that they were going to have a whole human to care for in just two months. A human they would be completely responsible for. To say Clarke was feeling anxious about that was an understatement. But she had Bellamy by her side, not matter what. Lately, that was usually enough to make her feel like everything was going to be okay.

It was strange to think that it was just a month ago they were bickering on their way to her six-month appointment. Well, she was bickering  _ at  _ him, more accurately. Regardless, they were in a much better place now. An amazing place, actually. Clarke, of course, had her parents to lean on, and Raven too. But it was different having Bellamy. He was 100% in this, just like her. 

They hadn’t told anyone that they were going to find out the sex today. They were afraid they might change their minds, but that hasn’t happened. They wanted to know. Clarke found that she kind of loved having this small secret with Bellamy. Something only the two of them shared.

“Clarke Griffin?” the nurse announces, clipboard in her hand. 

Just a few minutes later, they’re waiting in the exam room, Clarke sitting on the exam table and restlessly swinging her legs. Bellamy remains standing, like he’s too amped up to sit down, and both of them remain quiet while they wait for Dr. Jackson. At least the nervous anticipation buzzing between them is a good thing this time.  _ Excitement _ . It’s been a while since she’s felt that. It’s a relief to realize that’s what this is. 

There’s a quick double knock on the door, breaking Clarke out of her thoughts. 

“Come in.”

“Hey guys,” Dr. Jackson greets them, glancing at Clarke’s charts.

“How are we feeling?” He gives her an easy, familiar smile as he sits down on the stool. 

“Everything’s good. Although, I’m not sleeping very well,” Clarke admits.

“You’re not sleeping?” Bellamy asks before Dr. Jackson can respond.

Clarke smiles at the amused look Dr. Jackson gives Bellamy.

“That’s actually very typical at this stage,” Dr. Jackson assures her, and Bellamy. “Unfortunately there’s not much I can offer in terms of advice that you probably haven’t already thought of - some chamomile tea, reading or soothing music before bed.”

“We can get you some tea on the way home,” Bellamy tells her. 

It’s a good thing that Clarke is learning to take his overprotectiveness with a sense of humor, or it would have driven her nuts weeks ago. 

“I have some,” she assures him with another amused smile before redirecting her attention back to Dr. Jackson. “We actually decided we want to learn the sex.”

“Well, I have it right here. Are you guys doing any event or-”

“No, we just want to hear it today,” Clarke cuts him off. After months of not knowing, the last ten seconds of anticipation is suddenly killing her. “Now,” she clarifies. 

Jackson laughs. “Well, it’s a girl. Congratulations, you guys.”

“A girl,” Clarke stutters, grabbing Bellamy’s arm next to her. 

“We’re having a girl?” Bellamy asks, as if he might have misunderstood.

Jackson’s smile grows wider. “Yeah, a girl. You’re having a girl,” he repeats, letting out a small laugh. 

Clarke doesn’t let go of Bellamy, just squeezes his arm tighter as she looks up at him. She’s sure that her own smile reflects his. 

\--∞--

“O’s going to flip,” Clarke laughs as they pull out of the hospital parking garage. 

Bellamy slides his sunglasses back on. “So is my mom,” he laughs. His smile hasn’t dimmed since they found out.

“So are my parents,” she agrees. 

“You know,” she starts, a beat later. “I don’t think my parents have ever met your mom.”

“No, that’s not possible,” Bellamy says, scratching his head. 

“No really, think about it. It was always  _ you _ at O’s games and picking her up, because your mom had to work. My parents always just dropped me off at the house before I could drive, or you were driving us around. I can’t think of a single instance when they met.”

“Yeah, that’s...that is weird,” Bellamy agrees, furrowing his eyebrows like he’s still trying to think of a time. 

“I have an idea.”

“Those always end so well,” Bellamy quips.

Clarke swats at his arm. “Stop it, I’m serious.”

“Well, go on, Princess. I’m listening.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at the nickname but continues. “What if we have your mom over for dinner at my house, and we tell them all together. We could even make dinner for them.”

Bellamy laughs. “You mean  _ I  _ could make us dinner.”

“I’m  _ serious _ , you're not listening!” Clarke laughs. 

Bellamy laughs again. “I think it’s a great idea. But I think Sunday night is the only night my mom and I both have off in the next week or so.”

“I think that’s fine. I’ll just make sure my parents are home from work on time.”

Bellamy shakes his head, like he can’t believe it. “A girl,” he repeats. 

“You haven’t stopped smiling,” Clarke laughs. “Were you hoping for a girl?”

“I didn’t care, but it’s just...like I said, it makes it real. A daughter.”

“A daughter,” Clarke repeats, almost mesmerized by the word. The word has a sense of ownership to it that she loves.  _ Their  _ daughter. Her’s and Bellamy’s. She wishes it didn’t make her stomach flutter, but she’s grown used to it. 

\--∞--

Clarke pauses in front of Raven’s door, catching her breath. It’s embarrassing really, how she can barely make it up two flights of stairs in Raven’s walk-up without getting tired. She’d rather people not know that. 

It takes Raven all of ten seconds to open the door once she knocks. 

“Hey Mama,” Raven greets her.

Clarke laughs, pushing past her into the apartment. “Stop calling me that.”

Raven shrugs, unaffected. “Sure.”

Clarke sets down a bag of snacks on the kitchen counter.

“Perfect timing, just ordered the pizza.”

“We’re going to have too much food.”

“That’s a great problem to have,” Raven quips, opening the bag of chips and taking a handful of them. “By the way, you didn’t have to come over here tonight. I don’t mind coming to your place if it’s easier.”

“Well, it’s not every Saturday night that all of your roommates are gone,” Clarke comments. 

“True,” Raven agrees, taking another handful of chips.

“Besides, it’s nice to get out of the house. I probably won’t be able to leave the house much in the months after the baby is born. Might as well venture out while I still can.”

Raven laughs. “Yeah, I get that. Slum it with me for the night for a little adventure.”

Clarke laughs, rolling her eyes. “ _ Also _ , I wanted to tell you something without my parents overhearing.”

Raven raises her eyebrows at her.

“So, we decided to find out the sex of the baby today,” Clarke starts, already smiling. 

Raven’s eyes grow wide in response, but Clarke continues before she can get a word in.

“We’re having a girl.”

“Ahhh! Shut up!”

“Yeah,” Clarke laughs. “I’m excited, it’s just nice to finally know.”

“Wait, why don’t you want your parents to know?”

“I do, but we’re telling them and Bellamy’s mom at dinner tomorrow night. So keep a lid on it for 24 hours.”

“My lips are sealed,” Raven laughs. “So is that what you wanted?”

“Well, I didn’t really care, but…”

“But?”

“Well, I feel a little more confident raising a girl. I’m a little relieved.”

Raven is smiling as wide as Bellamy was earlier. “I can’t wait to spoil the absolute shit out of her.”

Clarke just laughs, taking the bag of chips from her and walking over to the couch to sit down. Her back hurts too much to stand around these days. She flops down, ungracefully.

“Was Bellamy excited?” Raven asks, sitting next to her. 

“Yeah, definitely. He had a smile on his face from the moment we found out to the moment he dropped me off.”

“You should have invited him over tonight.”

“I did, he has a bar shift though. Saturday night and all.”

“Oh right. So things are really good with you guys?”

“ _ Much _ better,” Clarke confirms. “It’s like, we both just needed to say what we needed to say and needed reassurance from the other. It feels like the old us again.”

“I thought the  _ old _ you guys fought.”

“Well,” Clarke starts, unsure of how to explain her relationship with Bellamy. “ _ Fought _ is a strong word. Bickered, I guess. But not really in a  _ mean _ way, but like…”

“Like the way people bicker when they flirt? Like you’re mean to each other because you really want to fuck and don’t know how to say it?”

“Jesus,” Clarke laughs, throwing a pillow at Raven. “It’s not like that. But yeah, I guess things are even better than they used to be, now that I think about it. It feels like we’re actually friends. It’s nice.”

Raven gives her a sly smile. “I bet it is.”

“Stop!” Clarke laughs again.

“You literally light up when you talk about him. You realize that right?”

“I do not. I’m talking about the  _ baby _ .”

“Sure,” Raven says with a playful roll of her eyes. “When you’re ready to be honest, let me know.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she quips sarcastically. 

Raven leans over to grab the TV remote. “Alright, what are we watching?”

Raven turns on The Mummy, clearly outraged upon hearing that Clarke has never seen it. They only make it about 30 minutes into the movie before they pause it when the pizza arrives. Raven brings the box to the coffee table and they dig in, not bothering with plates. 

“By the way, how’s your mom?” Clarke asks. She knows that her pregnancy overshadows a lot their conversations and suspects that Raven is more than happy to use that as an excuse to shy away from personal conversations about herself. Clarke does her best not to let her.

“Oh, she’s Cris. Two weeks sober and pretending that it’ll stick,” Raven says, taking a bite of pizza and rolling her eyes. “I’m going over tomorrow to check on her and bring her a few groceries.”

“You’re a good daughter,” Clarke tells her. She feels a surge of affection for her own parents, even though it’s a selfish thought. 

Raven shrugs. “I’m just used to her. It is what it is.” 

Clarke nods, knowing that Raven doesn’t want to make a big deal about it. “I guess so.”

“On a more exciting note,” Raven says, voice lighter as she sets down her pizza crust. “I met a guy.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Way to bury the lead!”

Raven shrugs, smiling. “I mean it’s not  _ anything _ . Just good old fashioned casual sex. But this is the first thing that’s more than a one night stand since Finn.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t too awkward for them to talk about Finn, and they had multiple times. She supposes it makes it easier that Finn meant very different things to each of them. He was Raven’s childhood friend and first love. The guy who she outgrew but was afraid to let go of. For Clarke, it was the first guy that really paid her any attention. She convinced herself she wanted him too, because it was nice to feel wanted. Especially after realizing the depth of her crush on Bellamy the summer before her senior year. Finn was a distraction, one that worked, for a while anyways. He broke both their hearts in different ways, but it was hard to hold onto the anger when they both knew they were better without him. Not to mention that he was, after all, the reason they were now friends. 

“That’s awesome. When are you seeing him again?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Like I said, it’s casual. I don’t really want anything like I had with Finn. It’s too messy, I just want to keep it light. We just text each other when we feel like it.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind when it’s the right person.”

“Maybe,” Raven agrees. “I just want to be with someone who’s smart, but not boring. Who makes me laugh, but is actually a good guy. That seems impossible. I’m not sure that’s out there, so I’d rather just have fun and focus on school and work. But, my point is, it’s nice to have someone consistent.”

When Raven describes that, Clarke’s oldest friend pops into her head. Clarke didn’t have a spark for Wells, never had, but he hit all those boxes. They were both incredibly smart, and from what she could tell, had similar senses of humor.

“I feel like you and my friend Wells would hit it off. I’ll have to introduce you when he’s home for Christmas.”

Raven wrinkles her nose. “I don’t date younger men.”

“We’re only a year younger,” Clarke laughs. 

“Still.”

“Not even if he’s 6’2”?”

That makes Raven pause, but she shakes her head a minute later. “Doesn’t matter, he lives on the east coast anyway.”

“True,” Clarke shrugs. Still, she can see it. 

\--∞--

Bellamy is sliding a check over to a customer sitting at the bar when he does a double take. Miller is taking a seat at the opposite end of the bar.

“Miller,” he says, walking over to him. “What are you doing here?”

Miller laughs. “Love the warm welcome, man.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and smiles. “I’ve worked here for two months and you haven’t come in once, excuse my surprise.”

“I’m grabbing drinks with a guy at a bar around the corner and I’m early,” he admits. 

“There it is,” Bellamy laughs. 

“And I had to see it with my own eyes - you working at the bar that literally threw your ass out less than a year ago.”

“You’re welcome for that,” Murphy says, passing a drink to the woman sitting next to Miller. 

“Miller, Murphy,” Bellamy introduces, rolling his eyes at Murphy’s interruption. 

Miller leans over to shake his hand and Murphy doesn’t exactly scowl when he shakes it, which Bellamy is coming to realize is his version of being nice. 

“Nice to meet you, man,” Miller says, then pauses, thinking. “I think I bought weed from you in high school.”

“That tracks,” Murphy deadpans. “One of my many talents.”

Miller laughs and Murphy walks away, calling over his shoulder that it was nice to meet him.

“He doesn’t seem so bad,” Miller comments. 

“Yeah, he’s growing on me,” Bellamy admits. “One sec,” he adds, leaving him to serve a customer a few seats down. 

“So Clarke and I had her seven-month appointment today,” Bellamy prompts when he walks back over to Miller.

“Is that a big one?”

“No, not necessarily. But we found out what we’re having - a girl.”

Miller breaks into a huge smile. “Congrats, man,” he says, leaning across the bar to shake his hand. “Damn, you and all these women in your life. You can’t catch a break.”

Bellamy just laughs. Miller isn’t wrong - between his Mom, Octavia, and Clarke, the closest people in his life have always been women. Now a daughter too. But he couldn’t care less. His heart swells every time he even thinks the word. He’s going to have a  _ daughter _ . Although he won’t admit it out loud, a part of him is excited they’re having a girl because the thought of a mini-Clarke gives him butterflies. 

Miller shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you’re having a kid with Clarke. I still can’t wrap my head around this.”

“And why’s that?” Murphy asks from behind him, drying off a glass. 

“Well, because she’s his little sister’s best friend,” Miller answers before Bellamy has a chance to tell Murphy to piss off. 

Murphy raises his eyebrows in surprise before letting out a loud laugh. “Damn, Blake.”

Miller looks between them confused. “He didn’t know?”

Murphy walks up to stand next to Bellamy, glass still in hand. “Well I knew about him having a future baby mama, I didn’t know that interesting little tidbit.” Murphy smirks at Bellamy before turning back to Miller. “Anything else you feel like sharing?”

“I think I’ve said enough,” Miller laughs. “Besides, I’ve got places to be,” he adds, hopping off the bar stool.

“Well thanks for stopping by, it was great,” Bellamy tells him, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Miller just salutes him and gives him a apologetic shrug before turning to leave. 

Bellamy and Murphy don’t talk much the rest of the shift. It being Saturday night, the bar gets busier as the hours pass and stays that way until the last customer finally stumbles out a little before 2am. Given that Bellamy works with Murphy during most of his shifts, the two of them have learned to close the bar pretty efficiently together. They leave the dive bar’s music playing while they clean, occasionally humming to a song.

“So a girl, huh,” Murphy comments, ten minutes into cleaning.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. Of all the things he expected Murphy to say, if anything, it wasn’t that. “We’ve got to work on your eavesdropping habits.”

“Good luck with that.”

Bellamy sighs. “Yeah, a girl,” he confirms.

They’re both quiet as they clean for a few minutes. Murphy hums along to  _ This is the Sea  _ by the Waterboys, playing over their sound system at half volume. 

“Girls are easier,” Murphy says. 

“Huh?”

“I’ve got a five year old niece that I watch sometimes. She’s pretty sweet.”

Now it’s Bellamy who smirks. “Murphy, the babysitter,” he laughs.

Murphy rolls his eyes but Bellamy can see the signs of a smile itching the corners of his lips. “Yeah, well. Compared to my sister, I’m goddam parent of the year.”

Bellamy hums at that, but to his surprise, Murphy keeps talking.

“So, you knocked up your little sister’s best friend, huh. Left that part out.”

“Yeah, I try not to voluntarily provide you with fuel to torment me with.”

“Oh, come on. I’m really just curious now. I won’t say another word about it.”

Bellamy looks up from the table he’s wiping down, shooting Murphy a skeptical look.

“Scout’s honor,” he promises. Because it’s Murphy, it still sounds a little sarcastic, but Bellamy has a feeling he’s being genuine this time. 

Bellamy eyes him for another moment before sighing and walking back towards the bar. “Hand me a beer.”

\--∞--

Clarke tries not to stare at Bellamy as she watches him from across the kitchen island, expertly slicing the chicken for the chicken cordon bleu they’re making for their parents. Okay, maybe he was right - what  _ he’s _ making for their parents. So it’s not like she has anything better to do than gaze at his tan, exposed forearms. Hopefully it comes off as interest in his cooking, not interest in the way his bicep muscles move under his long-sleeve t-shirt. 

She feels their daughter kick, as if calling her out. In fact, their daughter kicks a lot now when Bellamy’s around, as if a flip was switched after that first time in the car. So many times that Clarke has had to stop telling Bellamy  _ everytime  _ it happens, even though she suspects he wouldn’t really mind. 

“How’d you learn to cook so well?” she asks, ignoring the kick and forcing her eyes back up to his face.

He looks up at her, opening his mouth to answer, but she cuts him off.

“And don’t say it’s because you had to cook for Octavia, because we both know she would have happily survived off of mac and cheese and chicken nuggets.”

Bellamy laughs, a glint in his eyes with a subtle shadow of grief behind them. They both miss her dearly. She doesn’t have a lot of time to facetime and the mention of her sometimes feels like they’re talking about a ghost.

“Well, just because she would have happily ate that way, doesn’t mean I wanted to let her,” he answers, going back to slicing the chicken. “But also, I guess I just thought it was fun. Looking up recipes and trying them. Sometimes my mom would get behind on shopping and I’d have to make do with random items,” he admits with a chuckle. “Had to get creative.”

Clarke laughs. She glances at the clock, noting that they still have about an hour before Aurora arrives. Neither of her parents are home yet and she hopes that tonight of all nights, there isn’t an emergency at the hospital or her dad doesn’t get pulled into a project crisis until 8pm. It’s not unusual, and she understands most of the time. Really, she does. But this is important to her. Just once, she wants to be the priority over any work emergencies. 

She takes a sip from her mug of tea and watches Bellamy put the chicken in the oven before taking the vegetables for the salad out of the fridge. He’s over at the house more often than not these days, pretty much anytime he doesn’t have work, and she likes how comfortably he moves around her kitchen. She’s grown to love his presence, even if they don’t do anything but watch TV together. She hates being in her big empty house all alone. Then again, maybe she’s always felt that way about Bellamy. She went to the Blakes house for company, and mostly to see Octavia, but she remembers being disappointed when Bellamy wasn’t around, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“Can I help?”

“With the salad?”

“Yeah, I feel useless,” she complains. 

Bellamy dramatically eyes her, assessing her as if he’s contemplating an important decision. “Guess you can’t screw up cutting vegetables.”

“Ass,” she scolds, a hand on her bump as she climbs off the stool and grabs a second cutting board. Bellamy just chuckles and hands her a red onion. 

They cut for a few minutes in silence, Alexa playing her spotify playlist the only noise in the kitchen. But then she feels his gaze on her and out of the corner of her eye, notices that he’s stopped slicing the mushrooms. Her heart skips a beat at the thought of him watching her. That is, until she finally looks up and finds him smirking at her, head tilted slightly, expression both arrogant and amused.

“ _ What? _ ” she asks, exasperated. Genuine irritation flips on like a switch in her. That seems to happy a lot with Bellamy - Clarke feeling torn between wanting to jump him and punch him. After all, he’s still Bellamy.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“What do you mean what am I doing, I’m cutting an onion.”

His smirk grows, eyes now full of amusement. Her irritation spikes.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Princess, answer honestly. Have you ever diced an onion?”

Clarke’s cheeks burn. Okay so she doesn’t cook much. Okay, so she’s never really cooked anything that isn’t mac and cheese. Sue her. 

“I mean, probably. At one point.”

Bellamy finally lets out a laugh that she thinks he was probably holding in for a while. 

“Well, we can’t all be MasterChef,” she complains, slamming down the knife a little harder than she intended. “There’s a lot of ways to cut a vegetable.”

Bellamy’s eyes go wide at her little outburst. “Easy, there,” he chuckles. 

Clarke curses her hormones. They’ve really been getting the best of her emotions these days.

“Here, give me.” His voice is softer, the mocking tone gone but amusement still lurking under the surface. 

“I want to do it.”

“I know, I’ll show you.” 

Clarke concedes with a sigh, sliding him the cutting board.

“Like this,” he demonstrates, taking half the onion and slicing vertical lines in it before cutting horizontally. He slides the cutting board back to her, watching her. She hates how she feels like it’s a test, but does as he showed her anyways.

She cuts the same way he did, but she finds herself irritated that her fingers look clumsy where his looked graceful. No one would believe she was the artist. She still feels his gaze on her. 

“Here,” he starts, moving around the island to stand beside her. 

“Like this,” he murmurs, readjusting her hand on the knife and then placing his over hers. He guides her hand through the motions and she tries to ignore the goosebumps she feels at the feel of his hand on hers. The air somehow feels thick, completely different from when they were bickering a minute ago. She steals a glance at his face only to find that he’s already looking at her, despite his hand still guiding hers.

“I see you guys haven’t burned down the house.”

Clarke is embarrassed when she physically jumps, but she knows Bellamy was just as surprised by the way he jumps a foot away from her at the sound of Jake’s voice. Her eyes land on her father, standing in the kitchen doorway, still wearing his jacket and carrying his briefcase.

Clarke forces herself to laugh at his comment and she hears Bellamy do the same. He goes back to slicing the mushrooms, a safe distance away from her again. 

“Don’t worry. Bellamy’s doing the cooking so we’re safe,” she assures her dad, smiling at Bellamy.

“You cook?” Jake asks Bellamy. 

Clarke can tell that Bellamy is nervous, but she’s not sure that her dad can.

“Yeah, I like to cook,” he confirms. “I cooked a lot for Octavia and myself when my mom worked nights.”

Clarke watches as something flashes across Jake’s face. Some mix of impressed and disapproving that she doesn’t really understand.

\--∞--

Clarke feels elated when they all sit down for dinner, suddenly incredibly excited to share their news with her parents and Aurora.

_ A girl _ , she thinks again. It’s been two days, but it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet. 

Clarke takes a gulp of water, a little nervous as she glances across the table at where Bellamy and Aurora are sitting. Her parents are sitting at their usual spots at the heads of the table. She hopes this goes well. After all, these are her daughter’s grandparents. 

They all make small talk for a few minutes and Clarke wonders when the best time to share their news is. She isn’t sure. Maybe her and Bellamy should have planned it, but that feels a little foolish too.

“This is fantastic,” Abby compliments Bellamy. 

Bellamy, always full of confidence, seems sheepish at her words.

“Hey, I helped too,” Clarke jokes, smiling because she knows no one will believe her.

Bellamy stabs a red onion from the salad with his fork, popping it into his mouth. “It’s delicious, Clarke,” he teases.

Clarke lets out a loud laugh even though she knows their parents don’t get the joke. 

“Bell has always been a great cook,” Aurora interjects, looking over at him with pride. “He can really make something good out of anything.”

“Bellamy was just telling me he did a lot of cooking for him and Octavia,” Jake prompts. “When you were working nights.”

Clarke glances at her dad nervously. There’s nothing wrong with his words, but his tone makes her nervous.

Aurora masks her discomfort immediately. “That’s right. He’s done a lot for me, he’s always been very responsible,” she says, smiling at him again and squeezing his arm.

Clarke glances at her mother, who looks as nervous as Clarke feels.

“Right,” Jake continues. “You were gone a lot when Clarke was at the house, then? Bellamy left in charge of the two of them?”

“Dad-” Clarke starts, setting down her fork. 

This time Aurora’s eyes harden. “Yes. I had to work to put a roof over our heads.”

“I just mean, I think it would have been good to know that there wasn’t any real parental supervision going on.”

“Jake,” her mom warns as Aurora raises her eyebrows at him in disbelief. When she glances at Bellamy, she sees fire behind his eyes. She knows he probably would have just taken it if it was about him, but not with his mother.

“Well, I guess we have that in common then.”

“Excuse me?” Abby questions. Clarke looks at her in disbelief. She thought she would at least have her mother on her side to help diffuse the situation.

“Well, I know Clarke preferred spending time at our house so she wouldn’t be all alone here,” Aurora shoots back. She’s not wrong.

“And that somehow excused him-” her dad starts.

“Stop it!” Clarke yells, standing from her seat as quickly as she can manage. “Just- just, stop,” she continues, voice shaking. “I’m so sick of you guys pointing fingers, I’m so sick- I’m just, I’m done with it. If you guys can’t be positive and move on, then I don’t want any of you in our daughter’s life.”

“Daughter?” Abby asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

Clarke sighs, realizes her mistake. “Yeah, daughter. We’re having a girl. That’s what we wanted to tell you guys tonight. Congrats to us I guess,” she snaps, harshly pushing her chair in. 

She can feel the tears welling in her eyes, in her throat, as she storms out of the dining room and out the front door, grabbing the keys to her rover on the way out. Tears stream down her face by the time she’s sitting in the driver’s seat, suddenly unsure of where to even go. Just as she’s contemplating that, the door swings open. She looks at Bellamy with wet eyes and sniffles, feeling incredibly embarrassed about her outburst. 

“You forgot your jacket, Princess,” he tells her, holding it up. His gentle tone makes her want to cry harder, but she bites down on her lip to stop herself. “You’re upset, let me drive.”

Clarke sighs.  _ Relief _ , she thinks. That’s what she’s feeling. Because Bellamy is still here. Bellamy is still on her side.

“Okay,” she mumbles, sniffling as she climbs out of the car. She takes her jacket from him and puts it on before getting into the passenger seat. Bellamy is already in the driver’s seat, turning on the car.

Clarke wipes under her eyes, empty gaze on the street as Bellamy pulls out of the driveway. She doesn’t ask where he’s going once he pulls out of their development and onto the main road. She doesn’t really care.

“I’m so tired of this,” she murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “Everyone acting like I’m a victim to a crime, like this is some tragedy that happened to me. I know this was unexpected, but I’m actually excited about it- about  _ her. _ But everyone else is just looking for someone to blame or for a reason it happened, and-”

“Hey,” he interrupts. Clarke looks at him in the dark car. Even in the shadows, she can somehow see how sincere his brown eyes are.

“ _ I’m  _ excited. I am. We’ll figure things out with our parents, but you’ve got me, okay?”

Clarke just stares at him, unsure of what to say to that. When they come to a red light, he surprises her by taking her hand. He turns it so that her palm is facing up and interlaces his fingers with hers. She stares at their joined hands when he speaks again. “I’m in this, Clarke. Because I  _ want _ to be. You’ve always got me, no matter what.”

Clarke holds her breath at the weight of his hand over hers. Why does it fit so perfectly? He looks away from her when the light turns green, but leaves his hand interwoven with hers, giving it a small squeeze. She only lets it last for a few more seconds before she detangles her fingers from his. She can’t give into something like that. Not when she wants more than his sympathy and support, his friendship. Not when she wants all of him.

“Thank you,” she tells him once she pulls her hand back, and she means it. If he thinks anything of her pulling her hand back, he doesn’t show it. He keeps his eyes on the road and brings his hand back to the steering wheel. Clarke can’t help her eyes from lingering on his shadowed form.  _ Bellamy _ . It’s still Bellamy. Octavia’s infuriating older brother who still made her dinner after she spent hours taunting him, just because she got a kick out of it. The guy she could call when she was in trouble, who she trusted her mistakes with more than her parents. The guy who’s always been by her side, even though she never realized it like she should have. Not until now. 

“Where are we going?” she asks when she finally tears her eyes from him. He doesn’t seem to be driving mindlessly.

A soft smile pulls on the corners of his lips. “You’ll see.”

“Ominous,” she chuckles. 

But she trusts him. She always trusts him. Instead of pestering him, she turns on the radio and looks out the window as they drive through downtown towards the beach. It being Sunday, the restaurants and bars they pass are relatively quiet. By the time they reach the shores, the dark sky seems to surround them. Clarke puts her window down, breathing in the cool salty air. It’s a little chilly, even with her jacket, but the fresh October air feels like a relief.

She glances at him again when he begins driving north along the shore on Pacific Coast Highway, truly having no idea where he’s headed.

“You know, if you plan on murdering me, this is a terrible idea. Everyone saw you leave the house with me.”

Bellamy smirks but keeps his eyes on the road. “Patience, Princess.”

Clarke rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. She thinks they drive nearly twenty more minutes before she sees a small building on the beach, bright bulb lights strung outside of it. She’s sure it’s where Bellamy is headed by the way he smiles bigger, whether he realizes it or not.

“I’m going to assume you like tacos, since you’re not an entirely insane person. Although…”

“I like tacos,” she laughs as he pulls into the small gravel parking lot. When she climbs out of the car, the salty smell of the ocean hits her more intensely. The sound of the waves rolling onto the beach blends with Latino music playing at a soft volume.

“What is this place?” she asks, looking around. It’s a small spanish-style cement shack on the beach with a service window on the side of it. Above dozens of picnic tables next to it, the bulb lights she saw from a distance crisscross the area above it. There’s only one other table occupied by a young family, which she supposes makes sense given that it’s Sunday night. 

“They have the best tacos on this side of the border,” Bellamy promises, walking towards the building. She follows closely behind him, gazing up at the sky. It’s far enough from the city that the sky is clear, the stars vibrant.

“I feel like LA and San Diego might disagree with that,” she argues.

Bellamy shakes his head. “It’s Arkadia’s best kept secret.”

“Apparently, because I’ve never heard of it.”

Bellamy laughs. “It’s a fun place. The weekends are a lot busier, they usually have live music and a few firepits going too,” he tells her as they approach the building. A handwritten menu is displayed on a large sign on the side of the building. Clarke’s mouth waters as she reads the options.

“What’s your poison, Princess?” 

“Um...chorizo.” 

Bellamy walks up to the building and begins to order, but she interrupts him. “Oh, Carnitas too.”

She can see how he bites back his smile as he adds that to his order. Clarke usually tries to pay, but she admittedly stormed out of the house without her wallet, so she lets him take care of this one without argument. A moment later, they take a seat at one of the old picnic tables. He hovers behind her when she sits down, as if he’s afraid she might fall over.

“I’m fine,” she laughs, swinging her legs over the bench and under the table.

“I know, I know,” he sighs, walking around to the other side to sit across from her.

They’re quiet for a minute, both looking over towards the ocean and watching the waves. It’s mesmerizing, watching them flood the shore over and over again.

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Bellamy says, breaking the silence.

Clarke turns to him, surprised. “For what?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows. “You didn’t do anything wrong. My dad started...that. Again.”

Bellamy lets out a breathless laugh. “True. But I’m sorry it didn’t go well. I know you were excited to tell them.”

Clarke just shrugs, hoping she comes off as less bothered than she actually is. “I just- I don’t know what to say to my dad to get him onboard. He’s supportive on paper, but I know he’s still mad about all of it. Or disappointed, at least.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Not really. I guess I was just so relieved at my parents’ initial reaction that I ignored the harder stuff still under the surface. I guess there’s more of that than I thought…” Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to respond before an employee brings their food out on trays. Clarke’s eyes grow wide at the display as they set down item after item. Several tacos, chips, guacamole, salsa, Mexican street corn, and churros are all laid out in front of them by the time the server leaves.

“ _ What _ did you order?” she laughs.

Bellamy shrugs, laughing. “It’s your first time here, figured we needed to sample everything.”

Bellamy starts pointing out the different types of tacos to her - chorizo, carnitas, mahi mahi, baja shrimp, carne asada, and pollo asada. A surge of affection spreads throughout her as she watches him point out each one. There’s no reason for it at all - he’s not doing anything impressive. But it’s just  _ him.  _ It’s  _ Bellamy.  _ Clarke feels their daughter kick and runs a hand over her bump.

_ I know _ , she wants to tell her.  _ I see him too.  _

They talk about nothing in particular while they eat, bantering back and forth per usual. As she pops a guacamole-dipped chip into her mouth, she watches Bellamy attempt to take a bite of the carnitas taco. Meat and fillings spill out of it and he sighs, laughing at his own clumsiness. It strikes Clarke in that moment that there isn’t a single place on Earth that she would rather be at this moment. This strange, beautiful beach with Bellamy. Nothing to distract them. Just good food, and  _ him _ . 

“Can I tell you a secret?” she blurts, before she can stop herself.

Bellamy eyes her a little wearily. “Shoot.”

“I’m so relieved I didn’t end up going to Princeton.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline and he puts the taco that was halfway to his mouth back down. 

“What?”

“I know it sounds crazy maybe. Clearly everyone thinks this pregnancy screwed up my dreams - and I kind of felt like that too, at first. But as time went on, I realized I don’t think I really wanted to go. I think I was dreading it as it got closer, but I was too afraid to admit it to myself or anyone else.”

“Why?” Bellamy asks, genuinely curious. It’s like he can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want an Ivy League life. She knows it’s incredibly privileged of her, but she can think of a hundred reasons why she doesn’t want that.

“I don’t know, it just...it was just always the  _ plan _ . Ever since I was little - and it wasn’t really my parents pressuring me. I wanted it too, or I thought I did. But by the time I was sixteen, and seventeen, and eighteen, I don’t think I ever stopped to think about if I  _ still  _ wanted it. I was so focused on just accomplishing the plan, that I couldn’t remember why I wanted it in the first place. But it just felt set in motion at a certain point, impossible to change without disappointing people and I just went along with it. I know it sounds so stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” Bellamy cuts her off.

Clarke feels her body relax even though she didn’t know she had tensed. He understands.

“You know, I know you were upset about Octavia joining the military, but I was so envious of her. Octavia always goes after what she wants. She isn’t afraid of what other people think or what might be expected of her. She just follows her own instincts. You should be proud of her.”

Bellamy ducks his head down, staring at his paper plate with the half-eaten taco. “I am,” he says, looking back up at her. “I’m so proud of her. It’s not- I just worry. She was my responsibility for so long, and I can’t protect her from halfway across the world.”

“I know, I get it. I worry too. But- well, you raised her as much as your mom did. She’s capable and smart because of  _ you _ . At a certain point, you just have to trust that it’s enough. You just have to trust  _ her _ .”

“I know,” he agrees, shrugging as he gives her a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just hard. I miss her.”

“Me too,” Clarke agrees. “You know - we still have to tell her we’re having a girl. Maybe we do it tomorrow. Together.”

Bellamy smiles genuinely at that. “Yeah, together.”

They talk more about the baby and other mindless topics as they finish eating. Clarke is sufficiently stuffed by the time they walk back to the car. 

“Time to face the music,” Clarke prompts, climbing into the passenger seat. “But thank you, Bell.”

“Of course,” he smiles at her, turning the car on.

“Really, I needed this.”

Clarke thinks about their conversation as Bellamy pulls back onto Pacific Coast Highway, realizing that she’s not sure there’s anyone else in the world she would rather be with at the moment. Who she would feel comfortable talking to like that. Maybe not even O. Octavia could never understand being cautious or fearful of the things that Clarke was. Of leaping off the chosen path. 

“You know, don’t tell O, but I think you’ve kind of become my best friend,” she admits.

Even in the dark, Clarke can see how widely Bellamy smiles at that. “Don’t tell Miller, but you’ve kind of become my best friend too.”

\--∞--

Bellamy and Clarke chat easily on the way back to Clarke’s house. Despite the situation they left, Bellamy had calmed her down. She was ready to face things, whatever that meant.

Bellamy, who is telling her a story from his bar shift the night before, stops talking mid-sentence as they approached her house.

“My mom’s car is still here,” he observes, clearly surprised. 

“I guess that’s promising,” Clarke tries, unbuckling her seatbelt as Bellamy pulls into the driveway. 

“Yeah, I thought she’d be long gone. My mom doesn’t really put up with shit like that.”

“Well, maybe she murdered my parents and is cleaning up the mess,” Clarke jokes, climbing out of the car.

“That’s not funny,” Bellamy scolds, but he can’t get the words out without laughing as he shuts the car door. 

Clarke leads Bellamy into the house, shutting the front door behind them. Before she can announce that they’re home, she hears laughter coming from the living room. Clarke flashes Bellamy a surprised look, eyebrows raised, but he just shrugs. 

“Hello?” Clarke asks, following the voices into the living room. 

“What’s going on?” Bellamy asks, walking up next to her.

Their parents are all sitting around the living room, mugs in their hands and smiles on their faces. Coffee, Clarke guesses by the smell of it. 

They look up at Bellamy and her all at once. 

“You’re back,” Abby sighs, sounding incredibly relieved. 

She glances at the family photo album they have opened on the coffee table, which Clarke recognizes as one that has a lot of photos of her, Octavia, and the rest of their friends throughout high school. 

“We’re so sorry, kids,” Jake says before Bellamy or her can respond. “ _ I’m  _ so sorry. I ruined your big night.”

“I didn’t help,” Aurora chimes in. 

“We’re all sorry,” Abby reiterates. “Come join us.”

“Okay…” Clarke agrees, trailing off. She’s still caught off guard by the sudden change in attitude, but it’s not like she wants to make things worse by bringing it up again if they resolved it.

“What are you looking at?” Clarke laughs, walking over to them. Her mom moves over on the couch closer to Aurora to make room for her. Bellamy sits on the ground next to the coffee table, opposite her dad.

“Photos,” her dad answers. “You, Octavia, and the rest of your delinquent friends.”

Clarke laughs, pulling the photo album closer. She flips to the next page, eyes immediately landing on a picture of Harper, Octavia, and her laying out on the beach. She thinks it was the summer after their sophomore year. The next one is Octavia and Clarke covered in flour, making an absolute mess trying to make brownies for a school fundraiser. She smiles at the memory, because she knows it was Bellamy who took the photo. He was yelling at them about the mess and said he was capturing evidence that it was them, not him, for when Aurora got home. In the end, he had helped them clean everything up. He might not be in the photos, but he was always there. 

“I miss her,” Clarke sighs.

“Me too,” Aurora agrees. “She’s doing well though,” she assures them. “I talked to her two nights ago, and she’s having a blast. Traveling Europe on her off time. You know O, she could never sit still.”

They all laugh at that, even her parents. The Griffins might not know Aurora or Bellamy well, but Octavia was a constant at Clarke’s house almost as much as Clarke was at the Blake house. 

“I guess she’s the reason we’re all sitting here,” Clarke laughs. “Because she decided she was going to be my friend, and there’s no stopping her once she decides something.”

Everyone laughs in agreement.

“I don’t get any credit for that?” Abby teases. “I seem to remember being the mean parent who forced you to join the soccer team.”

“Okay, you can have like 20%,” she laughs.

Jake leaves the room as they make small talk, coming back with two mugs a few minutes later. He hands one to Bellamy without a word, coffee she thinks, and then gives her a mug of tea.

“Tea?” she complains. Jake teasingly narrows his eyes at her before sitting down. She smiles as she takes a sip. 

“Well, are we going to talk about your big news or what,” Aurora prompts. 

Clarke’s smile grows wider as she sets the mug on the coffee table.

“Well, you guys already know,” she says. “We’re having a girl.”’

“We’re so happy for you guys, sweetheart,” Abby says, kissing her temple and giving her thigh a squeeze. 

“We’ve got to tell O next,” Bellamy prompts. “I’ve got to ask when she’s free to facetime.”

“She’ll be happy it’s a girl,” Aurora laughs.

They continue to talk about the baby, everything from the nursery to names. It strikes Clarke in that moment that it’s probably the first time that everyone is happily talking about it, even her dad. She glances down at the photo of her and Octavia, feeling a sudden but intense pang of grief for her best friend, her sister, who is so far from her. But when she looks up at the group, laughing and talking in front of her, she knows she has the very next best thing. But then she looks at Bellamy, and although she feels a little guilty for thinking it, she realizes she might have something even better.

\--∞--

Bellamy drives his mom and him home in her car, about an hour after him and Clarke returned to the house. He had Miller drop him off after his guard shift earlier for that very reason. They remain quiet for a few minutes, as Bellamy pulls out of the development and onto the main road. 

“I’m sorry, hon. About how the evening went, in the beginning.”

Bellamy looks over at his mother in surprise. “Why are  _ you _ sorry?”

“Well, maybe I didn’t start it, but I was all too ready to fight. I went into the house with preconceived notions about the type of people the Griffins were. Wealthy, arrogant…”

Bellamy thinks of how he thought the same about Clarke when he had first met her.

“Well, they kind of proved you right,” Bellamy laughs. 

Aurora laughs. “Maybe so, but if I put my own issues aside I probably would have been more sympathetic to their situation. If Octavia got pregnant out of high school, I know I would struggle with it too.”

Bellamy tenses, biting his bottom lip.

“Bell,” she starts, holding his arm. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. It takes two and you are  _ not _ at fault here. My point is, I guess, it’s a complicated thing to come to terms with. They love her, they’re protective.”

“I know,” he admits.

“My point is, if I didn’t go to dinner feeling judgemental from the start, I would have handled Jake’s comments better. I might have defused the situation. But the truth is, I think part of the reason I never made an effort to meet them was because I’ve always felt insecure. I always assumed they would look down on me. I was waiting for them to say something of the sort tonight from the minute I stepped into the house. I was ready to pounce.”

“Mom,” Bellamy starts, shaking his head and squeezing her hand. “You as you are, you’re twice the parent that either of the Griffins are. They could never do what you’ve done alone. You’re strong, and independent, and the best parent a child could ask for. I know Octavia feels the same.”

It surprises Bellamy when he sees his mom swipe a stray tear from her cheek at his words. He can count on one hand the number of times that he’s seen his mother cry. When Octavia’s dad left. When she got laid off from two jobs in a matter of two weeks. Now that he thinks about it, that might be it. Still, she recovers quickly, shaking her head. 

“I appreciate that, honey.”

“Really, Mom. Where do you think Octavia learned to dive headfirst into the world, fearless?” he laughs. “That’s all you.”

His mom laughs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I know so,” he promises. 

\--∞--

Clarke sighs in relief when she takes her bra off. She’s always loved the time of night when she can get changed into her pajamas, but it’s a special kind of wonderful these days. She glances at her naked figure in the mirror, somehow still not used to her changing body. It doesn’t feel like her in someways. She pumps some of the anti-stretch cream that her mom bought her into her hand before thoroughly spreading it across her stomach. She feels a jab and smiles. Her  _ daughter _ , she thinks, for the hundredth time. The more she thinks it, the more she loves it. After throwing a large t-shirt and leggings on, she puts her hair in a messy bun and settles onto her bed with her sketchbook. She hates the way her hands automatically sketch dark eyes and freckles. It’s like they have a mind of their own. 

After only a few minutes of drawing, there’s a knock on her door.

“Yeah?” she answers. Her dad lets himself in. He’s still wearing his work clothing but looks more tired than usual, circles under his eyes. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Can we talk for a minute?” he asks. 

“Sure.” Clarke closes her sketchbook before he can see what she was drawing and he sits down on the edge of her bed next to her. Her arm rests over her bump. 

“I’m sorry, for picking a fight at dinner.”

“You already said that,” she says, looking down and picking at the hem of her old t-shirt.

“I know, but you deserve to hear it more than once. I let my protectiveness get the better of me again. I know I ruined the evening, and that I hurt you. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

Clarke sighs, looking up at him. Bellamy’s voice rings in her ears.

_ Have you talked to him about it? _

“You know, growing up, I always thought Mom and I were the crazy type A ones. You always calmed us and reminded us the world wasn’t ending when we freaked out over things. You always went with the flow of things and didn’t worry. But it feels like you’re the one who’s having the hardest time letting go of old expectations and plans, while Mom and I are moving forward.” Clarke chokes on the last word, suddenly feeling more emotional than she expected.

“Clarke, honey, I-”

“It just makes me feel like the baby will always be a disappointment to you,” she cuts him off, tears now streaming down her face. She tries to swallow back her tears, but her emotions swallow her like the waves at high tide, now that she’s opened herself to them. “I just feel like you’re never going to move past this, and you won’t be able to look at her without being upset,” she continues, a sob breaking loose. “I feel like you won’t love her,” she admits. She knows she’s barely coherent at this point, trying to speak through her sobs.

“Hey, hey,” her dad hushes her, pulling her into him. He cradles her head against his chest as she continues to cry, him rubbing her back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That just- that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.”

Clarke keeps crying, in spite of his words. She thinks maybe this was weighing on her longer than she realized. 

“Clarke,” he tries again, once she begins to calm down. 

“It’s the hormones,” she complains, pulling away from him and feeling stupid over her outburst.

“Clarke,” he repeats, taking her face in his hands and wiping her tears with his thumbs. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I...I couldn’t handle the thought of someone taking advantage of you, of hurting you. I know now that’s so far from true. But regardless of all of that, I couldn’t be more excited to meet my granddaughter,” he smiles, placing a hand on her bump. 

Clarke smiles, wiping away her tears. “What do you mean you know now?” she asks, hiccuping over her words from her tears.

Jake laughs. “Bellamy didn’t tell you?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“He yelled at us, at me!” Jake exclaims, still smiling, like he’s amused by it instead of angry.

“What?” she asks, letting out a watery laugh.

“When you left, he stood up and yelled at all of us. He told us that dinner was your idea, and that you were excited, and that we should all be ashamed of ourselves for ruining that for you.”

“He  _ did _ ?” she laughs, feeling more giddy this time.

“He did,” Jake laughs. “He said that we were acting like children and that you deserved better.”

Clarke’s heart flutters at her dad’s words. At Bellamy’s words. She imagines him losing it, yelling at their parents, and smiles. The gesture is both amusing and touching. 

“He didn’t say anything about that.”

“Well, that’s what happened,” Jake says, smiling again. 

“Why are you smiling about it?” Clarke asks, letting out a little giggle when she thinks of it again. She always knew the Blakes were feisty. They yelled and punched before they thought anything through, which sometimes, wasn’t bad thing. They were all heart. 

“I’m smiling because he’s looking out for you. I think I may have misjudged him.”

“You  _ think _ ?” Clarke asks. 

Jake laughs. “Alright, I’m pretty positive. I think it’s pretty clear he really cares about you.”

“He’s a good friend,” Clarke agrees.

Jake gives her a strange look, narrowing his eyes. “Right.”

“What does that mean?”

Jake shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing at all. You should get some rest.”

Clarke nods, giving him a soft smile.

“I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “ _ Almost _ as much as I love my granddaughter.”

Clarke laughs. “Thanks a lot.”

“Goodnight, hon,” he chuckles, standing. “Get some sleep.”

Once her dad leaves, Clarke crawls under her covers and flips off her light. She suddenly feels exhausted by their conversation, by the entire night. “You’re a pretty lucky girl,” Clarke whispers, running a hand over her bump. Closing her eyes, she drifts off to sleep in no time. 


	19. How Fickle My Heart & How Woozy My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! I hope everyone is still staying safe. This took longer than I expected, but it's 10k, so hopefully that makes up for it. 
> 
> A quick update, I finally got my act together and cleaned up my tumblr homepage. I'm now keeping a fic schedule there that you guys can check, since I'm too bad at sticking to a specific day of the week. So if you're wondering when the next chapter is coming out, you can check there. I'll continue to keep it up to date if I fall behind. You can find it here: burninghoneyatdusk.tumblr.com
> 
> Chapter title is from 'Awake My Soul' by Mumford & Sons.

Clarke’s eyes sweep over the room full of black-dressed bodies before she shakes the hand of another gust. She thanks them when they tell her how sorry they are about her father. She smiles wanly at them, thanking them for coming. Her mother stands next to her, just as stoic as she smiles warmly at the guests. Clarke feels like they’ve been at this for hours, but it’s only been about an hour since they buried her father, so she knows that can’t be true. 

To say that the scene is surreal would be an understatement. To greet her father’s funeral guests at her parents’ - no, her _ mother’s _ \- house, when just a week ago he was sitting on that very couch while her daughter watched television. It seems impossible. It all seems impossible. The sheer randomness of all of it makes Clarke feel like she’s spiraling. 

What if her father hadn’t decided to pick up bagels and coffee last Sunday morning? What if he hadn’t run out of coffee at the house, and didn’t have to go out to get it? What if he had forgotten his jacket, had to take five more minutes to go back into the house to get it? What if he decided to take another route, another road? There are a million small things that could have changed his fate. There are a million small decisions he had to make to end up at that very intersection. To end up there at the very same time that the drunk driver was flying through it. A million small decisions that led to that singular moment, that led to the world taking him from her. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel random at all. It feels targeted, and cruel. 

Clarke’s eyes find Bellamy while her mother talks to one of her father’s coworkers. He’s sitting with Lucie on one of the couches, attempting to get her to eat some of the hors d'oeuvres from a small plate, but she doesn’t seem to have any interest in eating. Bellamy hasn’t let Lucie out of his sight the entire day, a strange departure from their normal gatherings where she runs from aunt to uncle the entire time. Clarke feels her throat tighten the longer she looks at Bellamy, images from the previous night flooding her brain. 

_ What was she thinking? _

_ What in God’s name was she thinking? _

Clarke wasn’t thinking. That’s really the whole point. Before she can go down that road, her phone buzzes, Cillian’s name flashing across its screen. She slides her shaky finger across the screen, unlocking it so that she can read the message in full.

** _Cillian: _ ** _ Thinking of you today. Please call me when you can. _

Clarke swallows thickly, putting the phone back in the small purse hanging off her shoulder. During her last conversation with her father, she had promised that she was going to fix things, with both Cillian and Bellamy. All she had done since he died was make a bigger mess out of everything. He would be so disappointed in her. 

Clarke runs a hand through her hair, not caring that she’s messing up her neatly curled waves. She glances at Bellamy once more, feeling like she’s going to burst, or throw up. Like her body can’t contain her nerves or misery or...just _ anything _.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” she murmurs to her mother, interrupting the conversation between her mother and their guest. She doesn’t wait for a response before she walks away from her, heels clicking along their hardwood floors. 

When Clarke walks into the dining room, she spots Raven talking with Miller and Jasper. 

“I need to talk to you,” she tells Raven, interrupting Miller mid-sentence and dragging her friend along by the arm before she can respond. 

“Are you okay?” Raven asks once Clarke lets go of her, leading her friend up the winding staircase. Raven’s voice holds none of her usual snark, only genuine concern. 

Clarke doesn’t answer until she leads Raven into her childhood bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

Clarke inhales a shaky breath that doesn’t seem to reach her lungs as she begins pacing with her hands on her hips. Raven stares at her with wide eyes, sitting down on her bed. 

“I think I’m having a panic attack,” Clarke manages to get out. 

“Okay, just focus on your breathing, Clarke. Don’t think about anything else.”

Clarke nods, trying to follow the direction as she continues to pace.

“Just- count to five while you breathe in, and again while you breathe out.”

Clarke does as she says and starts to feel a little bit better. At the very least, her breathing has steadied slightly and her hands have stopped shaking so badly. She repeats her breathing cycle about five times before stopping a few feet away from Raven. 

“Better?”

Clarke gulps in air, shaking her head. “I had sex with Bellamy,” she blurts.

Raven’s eyes go comically wide. Under other circumstances, Clarke might have laughed. 

“What, no comment? No quip about how it’s about time?” Clarke questions when Raven says nothing. She returns to her pacing.

“Okay,” Raven starts, voice hesitant. “Okay, let’s slow down here.”

Clarke shakes her head again, feeling tears behind her eyes and her throat welling up. “Gotta keep moving,” she insists, letting out a huge breath. “Because, my dad’s dead. And then I told my fiance I needed space, because there's something _seriously _wrong with me. And then I fucked my baby daddy for the first time in six years.”

“You mean seven years?”

“Yes, whatever,” Clarke snaps. “That’s really beside the point.” 

Raven bites her bottom lip. Clarke is bewildered to realize she’s holding in a laugh. 

“Is this funny to you?” Clarke whines, voice cracking. 

“No, no,” Raven shakes her head. “It’s really not. More like, laugh so you don’t cry.”

Clarke nods and can’t help but smirk. Raven’s not wrong. She feels like taking a bottle of wine and getting drunk off her ass, and alternating between hysterical laughing and sobbing. 

“Let’s maybe tackle these one at a time,” Raven suggests.

“My dad’s dead, there’s nothing to say about that.”

“Well, yeah. But I’m betting those other things have to do with that, Clarke.”

Finally having tired herself out, Clarke kicks off her heels and collapses onto the bed next to Raven, laying on her back and staring at the familiar ceiling. Raven does the same. 

“It’s going to be okay, Clarke,” Raven murmurs, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Everything will be okay, eventually.”

“So let’s start with Cillian,” Raven continues when Clarke doesn’t answer. “The fiance that disappeared and who you refused to talk about for a week.”

Clarke doesn’t shift her gaze from the ceiling when she answers. “Well, it was a classic Clarke Griffin. He was trying to comfort me, be there for me, and I shut down on him. I insisted he go, and...and he did.”

“Why didn’t you want him there?”

“He just- he kept trying to get me to talk about my feelings and-”

“First mistake,” Raven quips. 

Clarke elbows her before continuing. “And I wasn’t- I wasn’t there yet. I had to focus on Lucie, and my mom, and everything else. If I talked about it, I wouldn’t have been able to put myself together again. But I just, instead of saying that, I completely shut down. I just pushed him away. Who does that? We’re _ engaged _ for fuck’s sake, and I just ordered him away.”

“_ Are _ you engaged? Because I don’t see a ring.”

“Yes,” she answers immediately. She sighs, running her thumb over her bare ring finger. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I took my ring off while we talked, when I told him I needed space. He told me not to give it back to him- that if I did, there was no going back. So I kept it, I just...I never put it back on.”

Raven whistles. “Damn, Griffin. You’re a handful.”

“Tell me about it. I’m a disaster.”

“And when in this timeline did you sleep with Bellamy?”

“Last night, or this morning technically,” she tells her, remembering it all over again. “Oh my god,” she whines, covering her face with her hands. “I’m so embarrassed,” she moans. “We had fallen asleep after I asked him if he would stay and when we woke up in the night spooning, I literally _ begged _ him to sleep with me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was a real chore,” Raven mutters, rolling her eyes. She gets elbowed again. “So...how was it?”

Clarke huffs. “That is so _ not _ the point here.”

“Well, if it was so terrible, you probably wouldn’t be freaking out about it right now.”

“Cillian just texted me,” Clarke tells her, still ignoring the question. “He said he’s thinking of me today, and to call him when I can.”

“Is that the first time you’ve spoken since...since that day?”

“No, he’s texted a few times. I’ve answered, so he wouldn’t worry, but we haven’t _ talked _ since then...shit. I’m such a colossal asshole. I cheated on him, right?” she asks, rubbing her hands over her face. “I cheated on him.”

Raven hums. “I mean, I’m not even sure how we categorize your relationship status, per se, but you probably need to talk to him about it, one way or another.”

Clarke doesn’t answer her. 

“Clarke, you know I love you, and I don’t mean to sound harsh, especially today, but...do you want to marry this guy or not?”

“I do,” Clarke immediately insists. But then she’s thinking about Bellamy’s hands running over every inch of her bare body, the absolute bliss of him inside of her, like her body was burning from the inside out in the most delicious way. “I did.”

“Bellamy?” Raven questions, as if reading her mind.

“Bellamy only wants me when I ask - when I need him, or I’m hurting, or...my point is that Bellamy is an amazing person with a huge heart, who would do anything to make me feel better. Of course he wouldn’t say no to me when I’m crying the night before my dad’s funeral, begging him.”

“You never answered me, about if it was good, so I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Cillian and I have something real,” Clarke continues, still ignoring the question. “Or at least we did, until I fucked it up. I feel like I’m coming back to my senses, like I’m emerging from some strange fog where I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was irresponsible, and incredibly fucked up.”

“Clarke,” Raven starts, rolling onto her side with her head propped on her hand. “Maybe it says something that when you followed your heart and your instincts and stopped _ thinking _ about it so damn much, that you ended up in bed with Bellamy.”

“And maybe it says something that Bellamy has never initiated anything- I mean, for God’s sake. He _ ghosted _ me after we first slept together. If it wasn’t for Lucie...I mean, I’ve forgiven him for that a long time ago, but let’s not pretend like he really wanted anything more than a one night stand before she was in the picture. He didn’t then and he doesn’t now. Cillian is great, and I love him, and I agreed to start my life with him.”

Raven groans, rolling onto her back again and putting her hands over her face. “Why don’t you just tell Bellamy you have feelings for him?”

“Because I _ don’t _, not in the present. And besides, I initiated us hooking up both times-”

“Ah hah!” Raven cries, her face suddenly above Clarke’s. “I know from you that you did not initiate your bathroom hookup, meaning you guys hooked up another time!”

Clarke bites her lip, trying to think of a way to dig herself out of the hole of her own making, but honestly, she’s feeling too exhausted to put the effort into yet another secret. 

“Fine,” Clarke groans. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Raven answers smugly, laying back down.

“Good. Now can you listen to what I’m telling you? I’ve thrown myself at him twice and he has _ never _ made a move.”

“And when was that first time you threw yourself at him?”

Clarke turns her head to glare at Raven. 

“It was only _ one _ other time, it was before Lucie was born, I initiated it. That is _ all _I am going to say.”

Raven groans in frustration. “You guys are so dysfunctional, you make me want to bash my head into a wall.”

“Really? And how is Wells?”

“That is _ not _ the same thing, and you know it!” Raven exclaims, popping up again to point a menacing finger at her. 

Clarke smiles, but it fades as quickly as it comes. Sitting in her room with Raven, talking about guys, she could almost forget what day it was. Could almost forget about why she had a house full of people downstairs. _ Almost _. 

“I have to get back,” Clarke sighs, standing to collect her heels. “I shouldn’t have left my mom for so long.”

The familiar pit she’s had lodged in her throat since her father died has come roaring back. 

“I don’t think we came to a consensus about your men,” Raven points out, sitting up. 

“Man,” Clarke corrects. “Not men. And actually, I did,” she counters, pulling out her phone. “I’m not a child and I’m not going to screw this up more than I already have with half-baked dreams from my teenage years.”

\--∞--

Clarke shuts the front door on the last of their guests, letting out a sigh of relief. She toes off her heels and kicks them off to the side, not caring about etiquette. It’s probably the only time in her life her mother won’t yell at her for it. 

When she walks back into the kitchen, she finds her mom wrapping up extra food with Aurora, Octavia, and Callie, her mother’s best friend who flew down from Seattle to be with them. Aurora, the first to notice her presence, walks over to her. 

“How are you holding up, honey?” Aurora asks quietly, rubbing the top of her arms. 

“I’m…” Clarke lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m hanging in there. I’m just ready for today to be over.”

Aurora nods knowingly, but Bellamy walks into the kitchen before she can respond. He’s holding their daughter, who is fast asleep in his arms. Aurora walks back towards the other women. 

“Hey, we should get her to bed, I’m going to head out,” he murmurs. “Are you sure you don’t want us here tonight?”

Clarke closes the distance between them, running a hand over her daughter’s hair. Her face is pressed against Bellamy’s shoulder, mouth slightly agape.

“No, it’s okay. It’s your night, and I just want to keep everything as normal as possible for her. I don’t want to change her routine.”

Bellamy nods in agreement. When Clarke shifts her eyes from their daughter and meets his gaze, she finds that he has a strange look in his eyes that she can’t read. Was it really just last night that he had his tongue in her mouth, his body blanketing hers? Somehow it feels like it was years ago. That’s the kind of day it’s been - the kind where you feel like you’ve aged years in hours. 

“Night, Clarke,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her cheek.

Once Bellamy says goodbye to the others and leaves with Lucie, Clarke heads into the dining room and begins folding their white table cloth.

“This looks like a two person job.”

Clarke smiles as Octavia walks over to her, taking the other side of the table cloth. That’s how it always was with them, wasn’t it? Picking up what the other couldn’t lift alone. No amount of time or distance could change that.

“Thanks, O,” Clarke says, smiling wanely at her. 

They only manage to fold it once before Octavia drops her half, quickly making her way to Clarke and wrapping her in her arms. Clarke gives into the hug immediately, wrapping her arms around Octavia’s muscular frame and nuzzling her face into her shoulder. Hugging Octavia was like Bellamy’s pancakes, like her father reading to her before bed, like her mother patching up her knee after scraping it in the backyard. It was the purest form of comfort. Octavia is her sister. No matter how far apart they might be from one another, Clarke can always trust her to have her back. 

When Clarke pulls away and looks into Octavia’s bright green eyes, she can’t help but wonder what she would think of her and Bellamy’s latest hook up. Bellamy is the only thing she can’t talk to Octavia about. It feels unfair, to put her best friend in the middle of their drama. If she’s being honest, Clarke is unsure whether Octavia would enthusiastically push them together or be mad at them for complicating their relationship. Either way, she knows it would be a loud reaction. One Clarke can’t quite handle at the moment. 

Octavia squeezes her hand once more before picking up the other side of the table cloth again so that they can finish folding it. Once it’s neatly folded up in Clarke’s arms, Octavia tells her she’s going to go help clean up the kitchen.

“I’ll be right there,” Clarke tells her, pulling out her phone once she’s out of sight. 

** _Clarke: _ ** _ Hey. I know it’s late, but I really want to talk if you don’t mind coming to my mom’s tonight. _

\--∞--

Clarke sits on her parents’ couch, nervously picking non-existent lint off of her black cocktail dress. Her legs are folded under her, her arm on the back of the couch so that she can watch for Cillian’s headlights as she finishes her glass of wine. So she needs a little liquid courage. She thinks that’s understandable. 

The Blakes are gone and both her mother and Callie have gone to bed, leaving the house eerily quiet. She knows that rationally, the house wouldn’t feel any different if her father were upstairs sleeping, but somehow it does.

As she gazes out the front window, she nervously twists her engagement ring around her finger. 

_ How was it? _Raven had asked. 

What a question. It was like this. It was like everything was right. It was like her heart swelled at the sight of him in a way she’d never felt before. It was like she had never been truly satisfied until he filled her, his hands pressing into her body. It was like the gasps and moans she elicited from him with every snap of his hips make her feel like she’s burning, even now. It was the best and worst idea she’s ever had. The worst, because Cillian was who she had chosen when she had her head on straight. Because Cillian was who she was choosing now. Leaving Cillian in hopes that her and Bellamy might become something, anything, was squeezing her eyes shut and hoping that Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny might be sitting on the couch next to her when she opened them. Foolish. Childish. Imaginary and impossible.

Clarke trusts her head, her rational side, in a way she’s never been able to trust her instincts or her heart. She can’t remember the last time she was truly, one hundred percent sure of something just because she knew it deep in her bones. Probably Lucie. The last time she felt that was was probably when she knew she wanted Lucie. Everything since then had been confusing and overwhelming. Now more than ever, she didn’t trust her heart to guide her. She was lost. 

When his familiar headlights pull into her driveway, Clarke downs the remainder of her wine, setting the empty glass on the end table. She’s nervous, more nervous than she’s ever felt around Cillian. Maybe he won’t even take her back. Maybe he just wanted to talk to her so that he could end things after her childish behavior. 

Clarke is waiting at the open front door when he walks up to her. He’s got his hands in his pockets, like he’s as nervous as she is. Clarke simply stares at him for a moment, feeling like it’s been eons since she was last with him. 

Out of nowhere, Bellamy’s voice affronts her. 

_ I got you, Princess. That’s it. _

Clarke shakes it off immediately. “Hi,” she greets him, voice soft.

“Hi,” he answers, a sad smile on his lips. She stares at him a moment longer before he speaks. 

“Are you going to invite me in?” he teases. 

Clarke lets out a nervous laugh, stepping aside for him. “Sorry,” she murmurs, closing the door behind them and leading him into the living room. 

She sits down on the couch and he does the same, maintaining his distance by leaving a few feet between them. When Clarke props her head on her hand, elbow on the back of the couch, she follows Cillian’s gaze to the engagement ring back on her finger. It’s only then she realizes he doesn’t know it was ever off. For all he knows, she slid it back on after walking into her house a week ago. 

Cillian shifts on the couch closer to her, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

Why does it make Clarke want to cry? Why is everything so messed up?

“How was today?” he asks quietly, genuine sympathy in his eyes. “Sorry, that was a stupid ques-”

“No, it’s not,” Clarke assures him, placing a hand over his. “It was okay, but I’m just glad it’s over.” 

The lump in her throat won’t go away. Sometimes it feels like she can forget, because the idea of her father being gone is truly too absurd to really comprehend. But then she remembers all over again, and it hurts as badly as the first time. 

“Cillian, I’m sorry,” she starts, choking on her words. “I know you were just trying to support me, be there for me, and I just...I’m a disaster.”

_ Let me be your ocean. _

Clarke shakes her head at herself. “I’m not even sure what you see in me, I just-”

“Hey,” he cuts her off, voice gentle. He swipes a tear from her cheek that she hadn’t even noticed slipped out of the corner of her eye, leaving his hand on her face. “I see all of you, and I love you. Even when you’re scared. You lost your dad, you’re allowed to be a disaster. But I just...I need you to let me in. I need you to let me be there for you, even at the worst of times.”

“I know,” she agrees, placing her hand over Cillian’s. “I shouldn’t have told you to leave.”

Cillian shakes his head. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t have left. Maybe I should have fought harder.”

Bellamy’s words ring in her ears like an omen. 

_ I’m not going anywhere. _

_ Clarke, I’m not going anywhere. _

_ Please don’t leave _, she had begged. 

_ Never, Clarke. Never. _

“No,” Clarke disagrees, despite her heart pounding at the memory of the night before. “You did what I asked you to do. That was on me. All you did was listen to what I wanted - what I thought I wanted. But I’m done running. I promise. Will you stay tonight?”

Cillian leans in to kiss her, answering her question with her lips. It isn’t firey or desperate, passionate or all consuming. But it’s nice and it’s warm, and maybe that’s for the best. She can think straight with Cillian. Clarke gives into his kiss as his hand shifts to cradle the back of her head. It’s a new minutes later when Clarke breaks away. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

\--∞--

Clarke is halfway up their winding staircase, her hand in Cillian’s, when their doorbell rings. 

She furrows her brow when Cillian pauses, looking down at her. 

“I have no idea who that could be,” she murmurs. “I’ll meet you upstairs,” she adds, already letting go of him and bouncing down the stairs towards the door. When Clarke swings open the door, the sight of Bellamy startles her. Changed out of his suit, he’s wearing jeans and a sweater under his jacket, already having changed into his glasses. 

“Bellamy,” she breathes. “What are you doing here? Is Lucie-”

“Yeah, sorry,” he cuts her off, shaking his head. “She’s in bed, Miller’s there.”

They’re both silent for a beat before he speaks again. “Sorry, I tried to text. I-”

“Oh, I haven’t looked at my phone in a while.”

Bellamy just nods, and something about his expression makes her heart pound against her rib cage. 

“What are you doing here, Bell?” she adds quickly. 

Bellamy seems nervous, swallowing dramatically and looking at the ground before seemingly forcing his gaze back to hers. It’s an odd sight. Bellamy never seems nervous, least of all around her. 

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“Oh, I-”

“Who’s at the door, babe?” Cillian asks, coming to stand behind her. 

“Bellamy,” he greets him, before Clarke can respond. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Bellamy answers, voice strained as his eyes move between Cillian and her. Clarke nervously runs a hand through her hair, noting how Bellamy’s eyes follow the action, his gaze landing on her ring.

“Hey, I’ll be right up,” Clarke murmurs, turning to Cillian. 

“I’ll see you later, man,” he says to Bellamy, who nods in response. Cillian presses a quick kiss to her temple before disappearing back inside the house.

“Do you want to come in?” Clarke tries. 

Bellamy swallows thickly again, shaking his head. “No, I- no, that’s okay. I think I’m going to go,” he tells her, already turning to leave.

“Bell, wait,” Clarke says, reaching forward to grab his arm before she can consider why. She backs off once he turns back around, taking a step away from him. “You said you wanted to talk,” she whispers.

_ Say something _, the voice in her head begs. 

_ Fight for me _, every nerve in her body screams. 

Bellamy purses his lips, a heavy silence hanging between them.

“Yeah, just, I was going to say...don’t tell him.”

She furrows her brow, clenching her jaw.

_ Tell me you want me. _

_ Tell me not to marry him. _

_ Tell me I’m it. _

“Don’t tell him,” she echoes.

“Yeah, no need to complicate things. It’s just sex, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

Her heart drops at his words. _ Her _ words. After all, she said them first, a long time ago.

“Bell,” she sutters. A small, forced smile breaks its way onto his lips. It would almost look genuine, if it reached his eyes at all. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he adds, turning to leave again, as if she didn’t speak. 

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Lucie’s parent-teacher conference,” he reminds her, already a few feet away. “Clarke, I can go on my own if you’re not up for it,” he offers, voice soft.

“No, no. I’ll be there, I just- it slipped my mind.”

Bellamy only nods before he walks away, climbing back into his car.

Clarke shuts the front door, immediately leaning back against it and letting out a huge sigh. It was almost a relief. He made it clear that she made the right choice tonight. Now she could finally move forward instead of dwelling on the past.

\--∞--

Bellamy has to make a concerted effort not to pace in the school lobby as he waits for Clarke. He wonders if things will be strange between them. The last 48 hours has his head spinning in the worst way. Sleeping with Clarke, attending Jake’s funeral, nearly making an ass out of himself last night…

At last, he sees Clarke appear on the walkway up to the school, cheeks flushed from the cold. She’s wearing her black peacoat and black work pumps, her clipped back hair falling out from the February wind. 

“Am I late?” she asks breathlessly when she pulls open the door.

Bellamy shakes his head. “I’m early.”

Clarke nods as she walks up to him, quickly averting her gaze from him. “Shall we?” she asks, nodding down the hallway.

They walk side by side, the clicking from her heels on the tile the only sound in the hallway. Bellamy knocks on the open door to Lucie’s kindergarten classroom.

“Come on in,” Ms. Workman greets them. 

They walk in and sit down at the two chairs in front of her desk. Bellamy is always struck by how much she seems like the epitome of a kindergarten teacher; a kind, calm face and doe eyes. Bellamy had met her in passing before, when picking up and dropping Lucie off, but this was their first parent-teacher conference. It felt strange to have it now, when he’s never felt so distant from Clarke.

“So,” Ms. Workman starts, smiling between the two of them. “I really don’t have much to report. Lucie has been a delight to have in class.”

Bellamy smiles at that, the drama with Clarke slipping away from him.

They only speak for about fifteen minutes longer, before Ms. Workman wraps it up.

“The one last thing I wanted to mention, is that we’re still looking for more chaperones for the annual kindergarten camping trip next weekend. Would either of you be able to come?”

“Oh,” Bellamy starts. “We’ve actually recently had a death in the family, I don’t-”

“I’ll do it,” Clarke cuts him off. “I’d be happy to.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says quietly. 

“Bell,” she challenges, looking back at him. 

“Alright, I’ll go too,” he volunteers, looking back at Ms. Workman. 

“Excellent!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. If she senses any tension between them, she doesn’t show it. “We’ll be meeting at the school next Saturday at 1pm and it’s about an hours’ drive to the campsite, but we’ll send out an email this week with more information.”

“Great,” Clarke smiles. “Looking forward to it.”

\--∞--

Clarke sighs as she sets down her mug of coffee on her desk and sits down in her office chair, kicking off her heels and folding her legs under her. It’s her third cup of coffee of the day and she knows she shouldn’t really be drinking it this late in the afternoon, but she’s having trouble focusing these days. At least it’s Friday. She could use the days off this weekend. 

Things were hard enough, given everything with her dad, with Bellamy and Cillian. But then on Wednesday, she received more bad news. Dante Wallace had unexpectedly passed away in his sleep. While she didn’t exactly have warm feelings for the man, Cage Wallace as her new boss was the absolute last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment. She knows it’ll be a nightmare, but it’s not like there are a lot of art gallery positions in Arkadia. She’s lucky to have this one and will just have to stick it out.

She manages to work for another hour, although she probably only really gets about fifteen minutes’ worth of work done. But she has to pick up Lucie from school, so she doesn’t have time to linger. It would probably be a lost cause anyways.

Just as Clarke is pulling on her coat, her cell rings. When she sees Cage’s name flash across her lock screen, she considers ignoring it. But, as much as she hates to admit it, he is her boss. She can’t let her own distaste for him affect her professionalism. This was the first time he was reaching out since she’d been notified of Dante’s death.

“Cage,” she greets him, throwing her bag over her shoulder and locking up her office. “I’m so sorry to hear about your father.” She truly was sorry to hear it, even if it was for selfish reasons. 

“Thanks, Clarke. That’s sweet of you to say,” he says, sounding as charming as ever. “I heard condolences are in order for you as well, I heard about your dad passing recently.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as she walks out of the gallery and down its front steps towards the street. This was the last person on Earth she wanted to discuss her father with. 

“I appreciate that,” she responds shortly. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’m on my way to pick up my daughter. If this is about gallery business, why don’t we talk Monday?”

“Sure, of course, Clarke. I look forward to it. It’ll be nice to have a friend who knows what I’m going through, to lean on. You should call me, if you need anything at all.”

Clarke bites her lip in frustration. Nothing he says is terrible, but she knows him and she knows that tone. Nothing about it is innocent. 

“Sure, Cage. Let’s talk Monday,” she confirms, ignoring the rest of his statement. 

He barely gets out a goodbye before Clarke hangs up on him. 

\--∞--

Clarke pulls into the driveway of Lucie’s school, feeling utterly exhausted. She’s barely been sleeping and she knows it shows, the permanent gray half moons lingering under her eyes. At least she’s on time, in spite of Cage calling.

Clarke hurries down the hallway, observing the other parents waiting outside of the classroom while kids file out in winter wear and adorably small backpacks. She doesn’t like to arrive too early, dreads waiting around with the other mothers. They’re mostly PTA-esque mothers, all about a decade older than her. She can’t help but feel like they’re judging her. Lucie walks out just as Clarke walks up to the doorway. 

“Hi, honey,” Clarke greets her, forcing her lips into a smile. 

Lucie runs up to her, hugging her side quickly. “Hi, Mom.”

“You all ready to go?”

Lucie nods and takes Clarke’s hand. Clarke is about to ask how her day was and is looking down at her daughter when she bumps into someone.

“I’m so sorry-” Clarke starts, looking up. She’s surprised to see Roma Bragg staring back at her.

Roma laughs. “Don’t worry about it, I had my face buried in my phone,” she says, rolling her eyes at herself. “How are you doing? I heard about your dad, I’m so sorry.”

Clarke nods, forcing a smile. “Thank you, I appreciate it. It’s been a long couple weeks, but we’re getting through it,” she says, squeezing Lucie’s hand. 

“Well if you guys ever need anything, please let me know,” Roma insists. 

Ordinarily Clarke would be irritated by the offer, assume it’s a ploy to get to Bellamy, but she seems genuine. It’s only at that moment that Clarke realizes she has no idea what became of Bellamy and her after Clarke ruined his date, but she doesn’t want to ask Roma. She _ should _ know what happened, but she’s been so caught up in her own problems that the whole thing escaped her mind.

“Thank you, we will,” Clarke assures her. 

“Oh, and I heard Ms. Workman roped you into the kindergarten camping trip too,” Roma adds.

“Oh, you’ll be there?” Clarke asks.

Clarke had really only volunteered because she didn’t want Lucie away for the night without her after everything that had happened. She seemed to be doing okay, but it still made Clarke nervous. Admittedly, she also thought that some time away with only her daughter sounded wonderful after the latest drama with Cillian and Bellamy.

But that plan continues to be derailed. Not only was Bellamy going, but Roma too. _ Great. _

“Unfortunately. I’m not much of a camper, but they needed people,” Roma shrugs. She gives her a quick wave goodbye when she sees Owen before Clarke can respond.

\--∞--

Clarke and Lucie kick off their shoes in unison once they walk into the house. Before Clarke can even get her coat off, her phone rings again. 

“Go get changed out of your school clothes,” she tells Lucie, before answering it. Lucie runs off towards her room.

“Hey,” Clarke answers.

“How was work?” Cillian asks. 

Clarke sighs. “Let’s just say, I couldn’t be happier that it’s Friday and that we’re having a quiet night in tonight.”

“So, about that…there’s been a change in plans.”

“Oh really?” Clarke teases, smiling as she heads to her room to change. “And what do those plans consist of?”

“I am not at liberty to say, only that you and Lucie should be ready for me to pick you up at six- and wear warm clothes.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows at that, even though Cillian can’t see. “What are you-”

“I can’t say more,” Cillian cuts her off. “These are orders from Raven, and you know she scares me.”

“Alright, fine,” Clarke laughs. So her friends were up to something. Something...outside? Still, she doesn’t want to get Cillian in trouble with Raven, so she doesn’t ask any more questions. “I guess I will see you at six then.”

“See you then, love you.”

“Love you too,” she murmurs, hanging up.

Clarke is exhausted, but maybe whatever they have planned, it’ll help her take her mind off things. Things like her dad, and Cage, and...and things like Bellamy, if she’s being honest. Once she changes into a warm pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, she collapses onto her bed, rolling onto her side and playing with her ring with her thumb. The problem is, when she lays on her side and faces the empty other side of her bed, all she can see is Bellamy laying beside her. 

_ Let me be your ocean. _

Groaning in frustration, she rolls onto her back. Only that isn’t any better, because then she sees Bellamy’s face hovering above hers in the dark. She shivers, closing her eyes as she imagines her nails digging into his back muscles as he drove into her, panting into her neck. Just the memory of his hot breath on her skin makes her center aching to be touched. 

She opens her eyes, quickly sitting up and ridding the memory from her mind before she can let the fantasy go any further. That was behind her. A desperate moment on her part, born of grief. On his part, nothing more than a favor to a friend. She knows Raven is right, that it certainly wasn’t a chore, but that doesn’t mean it was anything more than good sex for him. Who doesn’t enjoy getting laid? Bellamy had said it himself. It didn’t have to mean anything. It _ wouldn’t _ mean anything, not if they didn’t want it to.

\--∞--

Clarke and Lucie walk outside to meet Cillian when she sees his familiar headlights pull into her driveway. She’s dressed Lucie in warm pants and her winter jacket, thrown a vest over her own sweatshirt, and brought their hats and gloves in case it’s colder than expected. 

“Where are we going, Mom?” Lucie asks for the second time. 

“I don’t know, honey. I think your aunts and uncles planned a nice surprise for us.”

“What kind of surprise?” Lucie asks as Clarke opens the car door for her, making sure she’s buckled in. 

“I have no idea, maybe Cillian can tell us,” she teases, shooting him a coy smile once she climbs into the passenger seat.

“My lips are sealed. I’m under strict orders.”

Clarke just smiles and shakes her head at him. 

\--∞--

Clarke is surprised when Cillian drives them to the beach, although she really shouldn’t have been. Logically, there aren’t that many outdoor options in Arkadia. He drives them to a stretch of beach not far from her dad’s spot, a little bit south of it where the firepits are. Clarke’s eyes light up when she glimpses the dozen or so people surrounding one of the firepits, the fire blazing high in the vibrant dark blue sky. The sun has gone down, but the sky isn’t black yet.

“What is this?” she murmurs as Cillian pulls into a small gravel lot. 

Cillian doesn’t answer before they get out of the car, just gives her a coy smile. Clarke is a little dazed as she takes Lucie’s hand, the three of them walking towards the fire. She sees all her friends as she gets closer - all the delinquents, her mom and Aurora, and even Lincoln, who is standing next to Octavia.

Well, it’s almost everyone. Her father’s absence is a loud one. He always had a huge presence. He would probably have half of them sitting around him, telling some ridiculous, exaggerated story by now. She swallows her grief, forcing herself to smile as she walks closer to the group. Although, it isn’t _ that _ hard to smile, not when she sees them all. She’s happy as she approaches the people she loves most in the world. She’s as happy as she can be at the moment. 

“What is all this?” she laughs once they make it to the group. Everyone comes over to greet them, wrapping her in hugs and greetings. Clarke catches Jasper pick up Lucie and playfully throw her over his shoulder as she giggles before Octavia wraps her arms around Clarke from behind. Her eyes track her daughter as she runs away from Jasper, all the way to Bellamy, wrapping her small arms around his center. It’s only then that she notices how Bellamy has hung back from the rest of them.

“Guys, really,” she tries again, as Jackson hands her a beer. “What’s going on?”

Clarke’s eyes sweep across the group. Most of them are encircling her, with the exception of Miller who is flipping burgers on the small grill and Harper who is setting out other snacks on a table next to a cooler full of alcohol. 

Nobody answers her directly. Instead, Murphy jumps onto the log closest to them, banging two bottles of beer together. 

“Attention, attention,” he yells dramatically, causing everyone to quiet. Clarke takes the opportunity to shoot a questioning look at her mother, sitting in a folding chair next to Aurora, who now has Lucie wrapped in her arms. Her mother just raises her eyebrows and shrugs, indicating she doesn't have any more information than Clarke does.

Cillian wraps an arm around her shoulders, but Clarke’s eyes drift over towards the grill, where Bellamy has wandered over to help Miller. He pays no attention to Murphy. 

“Alright, get out of here,” Raven exclaims, pushing Murphy off the log and standing in his place. “You know group announcements are _ my _ thing,” she scolds. 

Murphy chuckles, walking back over to Emori and giving back her beer. 

When Clarke’s eyes sweep over her friends, she doesn’t miss how Wells is looking at Raven like she put the moon in the sky. She also can’t help but notice how Sasha is nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” Raven starts, voice more somber than it was a moment ago. “Okay,” she repeats, focusing her gaze on Clarke. Clarke raises her eyes at her best friend, indicating for her to continue. 

“It’s been…it’s been a really shit week. We’re missing one of our best. _ The _best, actually. It’s not a hole we’re ever going to fill, because he was a light for all of us. Every single one of us. If we needed Jake Griffin, he would be there, no questions asked. Anyways,” Raven continues, looking directly at Clarke again. “We just thought that you guys, that Jake, deserved something better than a stuffy funeral. We all know he would have rolled his eyes at that.”

The whole group chuckles in agreement, including Clarke. Even as she feels tears behind her eyes. 

“That was for other people, but this- tonight is for you guys,” Raven says, smiling at Clarke before turning to look at Abby too. “We all know Jake would have wanted us to have a fun night to remember him by, so tonight, we’re going to do that. We’re going to celebrate his life.”

Clarke swallows thickly, leaning into Cillian’s embrace even as her eyes wander towards Bellamy, who is looking at the sand at his feet.

“To an amazing dad, husband, grandfather, and friend,” Raven says, raising her beer. “To Jake,” she says, choking over his name as everyone else raises their glasses.

“To Jake,” they echo, raising their own beers and solo cups. Clarke joins them, raising the beer Jackson gave her and quickly swiping a tear from her cheek. The emotion of the moment hits her like a train - a strange mix of sharp grief because of her father’s absence and absolute affection and love for the friends and family standing in front of her. 

“Hey, we got Clarke to cry!” Emori yells, the first to notice her state.

“Oh, shut up,” Clarke yells, letting out a watery laugh as her friend wraps her in a hug. 

After the toast, Clarke walks over to her mom and Aurora. Her mom quickly stands, pulling Clarke into a hug and kissing her temple. When she breaks away, she holds Clarke’s face in her hands for an extra moment before letting her go.

“Did you know about this?” Clarke asks, letting out another watery laugh. 

Abby shakes her head, smiling softly. “Not a clue until Aurora picked me up tonight.”

Clarke turns and smiles at Aurora, who is distracted by Lucie, speaking softly to her grandmother.

_ I’m so lucky _, Clarke thinks. As soon as the thought passes her mind, she realizes how odd it is, to feel lucky at a time like this. But she is, in spite of everything. Even what she’s lost can’t overshadow all the amazing things she still has. 

Clarke sits in an empty lawn chair next to her mother after she sits down, pulling Lucie onto her lap when she wanders back over to her. A few minutes later, Harper brings over two plates of food for her and Lucie. Soon enough, everyone is closely gathered around the fire, eating, drinking, and taking turns sharing their favorite stories about Jake.

_ He would have loved this _, Clarke thinks, laughing at the story Octavia is telling about when Jake caught them and Harper sneaking out of the house during their junior year. 

Clarke smiles when she catches Lincoln looking at Octavia with a mix of affection and amusement, his usually passive face lit up. 

Over the next hour, everyone shares different stories about Jake from over the years. Everytime someone finishes their story, Clarke looks to Bellamy, wondering what one he will share. Yet, despite the fact that he laughs along with the stories the others tell, sipping his beer from his spot next to Murphy, he never says a word. 

\--∞--

As the food disappears, the fire dies down, and the conversation splits into smaller groups, Bellamy stares at the flames and sips his beer. He doesn’t feel like engaging, feeling too heartbroken on multiple levels. Jake is gone and Cillian is the one sitting next to Clarke and his daughter. Okay, so he’s wallowing a little. He thinks it’s justified. 

Bellamy was in a tizzy when he had called Miller the night of Jake’s funeral, asking him to come over and watch Lucie. He must have sounded desperate, because Miller didn’t ask any questions before he agreed. He had basically run to his car to drive back over to the Griffin’s house, unsure of what had come over him. 

The only comprehensible thought running through his mind was that he should be there.

_ I should be there. _

_ I should be with her. _

In that moment of madness, he didn’t care that the timing was wrong and that they were both grieving and that unanswered questions about her status with Cillian hung over them like a dark cloud. It seemed simple, in that singular moment of brilliant clarity. 

_ I should be there. _

But then, Cillian had apparently thought the same thing. He had felt like an absolute idiot, to think that her relationship with her _ fiance _ might have disappeared overnight. Clarke had been thinking clearly again, even if he wasn’t - and when Clarke was thinking clearly, she had chosen Cillian. 

Cillian was the guy that you marry, that you take home to your parents. Cillian was the _ doctor _. Cillian was the type of guy she might have ended up with if she had gone to Princeton. Bellamy was only the guy who knocks you up and gives you a few one night stands over the years. Yeah, he was definitely wallowing. 

“Hey big brother,” Octavia greets him, knocking him out of the self-loathing rabbit hole he was tumbling down. She plops down on the sand next to him. 

“Hey.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” she adds, bumping her shoulder against his playfully. 

“Just...just thinking.”

“About what?”

Bellamy isn’t sure what comes over him. Maybe it’s because his little sister is finally back, after all these years. Maybe it’s because Octavia collectively knows the two of them better than anyone. Maybe it’s because she’s here in front of him, and if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he’s going to burst.

“Can we go for a walk?” he asks.

Octavia eyes him curiously, but nods and stands. She takes a sip from her beer as she waits for him to do the same. 

The two of them slink off into the dark with their beers, walking north on the beach closer to the ocean. He thinks that everyone was distracted enough that they didn’t notice their departure. At the very least, no one says anything as they walk away.

“What’s going on, Bell?” Octavia asks once they’re a safe distance from the group.

“I’m going to lose her,” Bellamy confesses, voice raw. 

Octavia stops walking immediately, turning to face him. She doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

“O, I never want you to keep anything from Clarke,” he continues. “But can we just pretend you’re only my sister tonight, and not her best friend? Can we keep this between the two of us?”

“Bell,” Octavia breathes, sounding surprised. “I...I didn’t know you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. I love Clarke, I do, but you’re my _ brother _. Since the day I was born, it’s been you and me. You’re my person, Bell. You can trust me with anything.”

Bellamy doesn’t have a chance to respond before Octavia throws her arms around his waist and pulls him into a tight hug. Bellamy smiles. God he’s missed her, even more than he realized.

“So,” she starts, breaking away from him. “Talk.”

Bellamy runs a nervous hand through his curls, pausing for a moment. Octavia waits patiently.

“I slept with Clarke.”

“You two have a kid together, you’re going to have to be more specific,” she teases. It’s not enough to lighten his mood. 

“I slept with Clarke last Saturday, the night before the funeral.”

Octavia raises her eyebrows at that, turning away and taking a hearty swig of her beer.

“I’m so-” he cuts himself off, choking on his words. Octavia turns back to him with sympathetic eyes. “I’m so damn in love with her, I don’t know what to do, O. I’m going to lose her.”

“Does she know?”

“Sometimes I think she must. I don’t think I’m very good at hiding it. But then I think, I’ve never given her a reason to believe it.”

“And why haven’t you told her? I’m going to go ahead and guess that this is nothing new. I can see that, even if Clarke can’t. I could see it six years ago. So why haven’t you said anything?”

“I just...Clarke deserves better. I feel like, if I get to be with her, I’m benefitting from derailing her life.”

Octavia raises her eyebrows again. “You think your daughter is a derailment?”

Bellamy scoffs. “Of course not.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

“Yes, I’m beginning to,” he admits. “It made more sense in my head six years ago.”

“Well, took you long enough to get your head out of your ass,” Octavia teases, bumping his shoulder. 

“It’s not that simple. I mean, she’s finally happy now. She has Cillian, and he’s a good guy. The only reason we slept together was because she was grieving, and because I have no sense of self-preservation, apparently.”

“Just because Cillian is a good guy, doesn’t mean he’s the _ right _ guy. You’ve spun a hundred reasons as to why you shouldn’t be honest about your feelings. But if there is just _ one _ reason that you _ should _ be honest about your feelings, it’s that Clarke deserves it. She deserves your honesty. She deserves to hear it from you.”

“I don’t want to complicate things for her and Cillian, not when she’s happy.”

“Bell, if she _ really _ loves this guy - this guy she’s known for only _ seven months _-” Bellamy can practically hear Octavia roll her eyes. “-then why did she push him away the minute there was a bump in the road? How is that love? Cillian may love her too much to see that red flag, but I can. I think the others can see it too.”

“Maybe,” he reluctantly agrees.

“Bell, if she does love him,” Octavia continues, “Then your feelings for her won’t change that. They won’t complicate their relationship. The only reason your feelings would complicate her relationship is if she feels the same as you. Then it might change everything, but for the better. For both of you.”

Bellamy doesn’t answer her. He just sighs, looking out towards the dark ocean. 

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” Octavia murmurs. “I’m betting on the latter. I know it’s scary, but you’re right. You will lose her. You will if you don’t do something, and soon.”

Bellamy takes a swig of his beer. Even as Octavia is shredding his rationale to pieces, his heart is so entrenched in insecurity that he can’t shake his doubts, his reluctance.

“Wouldn’t she have said something, if she felt something for me? Or at the very least, not said yes to Cillian’s proposal?”

Octavia shakes her head at him. “Bell, don’t you think it’s possible that she’s thinking the same thing about you? Not to mention, this is _ Clarke _ we’re talking about. You know her as well as I do. She can rationalize anything. She never makes a decision based on her feelings. She usually runs away from them. Not like you, Bell. You’re all heart, and this is the only time in my life I’ve seen you resist your instincts like this. You have to tell her, to show her, before it’s too late.”

Bellamy looks back towards their group at the fire. He can’t make out much more than the silhouettes of his friends and family, but he can see the blonde hair that he’s always looking for, in every crowd. Even when he doesn’t realize it.

“I’ve told you a hundred times how wrong I was, how you shouldn’t have listened to your seventeen your old sister who gave shitty advice for the right reasons, under _ very _ different circumstances, might I add. But it’s on you now, Bell. You have to fight for her. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t, you’ve already waited too long.”

“I know...I-I’m going to. I will.”

\--∞--

Clarke takes a sip of her beer, absentmindedly stroking the top of Lucie’s head. She’s sitting on Clarke’s lap, head against her shoulder and sleeping soundly. Clarke knows that they should head out soon. Still, she’s so happy that she had tonight. Her heart feels lighter than it has since the morning she got the call. It makes her think that she might be okay someday, even if it’s not any day soon.

She glances towards Cillian, who’s been pulled into a conversation with Monty and Jasper. Whatever they’re talking about, Cillian looks thoroughly amused. As her eyes sweep across the group, her friends now talking in smaller groups, her gaze lands on Bellamy and Octavia. Bellamy has been strange, hasn’t said a word to her the whole night. 

_ It doesn’t have to mean anything. _

No matter what he had said, it was clear that it did mean something. Something had shifted between them, once again. The problem was, it didn’t seem to mean anything good. The two of them couldn’t seem to get anything right lately. Anything except that one hour between them. Except, even that wasn’t laced with guilt. Guilt that Cillian didn’t know. Most of all, guilt that she still couldn’t stop thinking about it. She had forgotten how good he - _ they _ \- were. But the guilt was mixed with so many other heavy emotions that it wasn’t as sharp as it might have been under other circumstances. As it should have been. Clarke was just trying to make it through the days, one hour at a time. 

Suddenly, Bellamy and Octavia are standing, walking away from the group. Her eyes are still tracking their movement as they disappear down the beach when Wells sits down on the sand next to her chair. 

“Need a refill?” he offers. 

Clarke shakes her head, eyes still on the Blakes’ silhouettes. “Where are they going?”

Wells follows her gaze, but shrugs when he sees them. “No idea.”

“How are you holding up?” he asks, a beat later.

“As good as I can be, I guess,” Clarke answers, rubbing Lucie’s back. 

“You and Cillian figured things out?”

Clarke eyes him wearily, letting him know without words that she isn’t up to talking about it. “We did,” she confirms. He doesn’t ask anything more about it.

Clarke can’t help her eyes from drifting back towards the Blakes. She can barely make them out now.

“He did all this, you know,” Wells says quietly. 

“What?” Clarke asks, eyes snapping back to him.

“Bellamy. You know he’d kill me for giving him all the credit, but it was him. I mean, we brought the beer and burgers but...it was his idea. It was all Bellamy.”

Clarke suddenly feels short of breath, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“Clarke, you okay?” Wells asks, alarmed when he notices her state.

“Yeah, no. I’m good,” she assures him, shaking her head even though the tears don’t totally disappear from where they’re gathering inside her. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

“Clarke…”

She glances at her friend, who looks unconvinced by her reassurances. 

“Really, it’s just..it’s all just a lot.”

Wells’s eyes shine with sympathy as he reaches up to squeeze her shoulder. “You’ll get through this. We’re all right here.”

Clarke nods, knowing that he’s right.

\--∞--

A few more of their friends come talk to Clarke, but none of them is Bellamy, even after him and Octavia return to the fire. She sneaks glances at him, her heart swelling at the thought of him planning this for them. For her. 

It isn’t long before everyone is packing up the leftover food and putting out the fire. Lucie has woken up from her nap and is chasing Murphy around as he tries to clean up. He pretends to be irritated by her, but Clarke can tell how much he loves the attention and the giggles he draws from her daughter.

“Clarke, c’mere for a second,” her mother says, standing a apart from the group.

“Everything okay?” she asks, walking over to her. “Well, okay as it can be,” she clarifies, realizing the stupidity of her words.

Her mother smiles softly at her, eyes sad. “I wanted to give you this,” she tells Clarke, pulling her father’s watch from her pocket. 

Clarke feels tears well up in her throat at the sight of the silver watch. Her father had loved that watch, always insisting on getting it repaired instead of buying a new one, even if the repairs costed more money than a new one would have. But Clarke knew why - she’d traced the engraving on the back of it so many times, fascinated with it in the way only children can be.

_ My heart, my home. _

It was a gift from her mother to her father on their first wedding anniversary.

“Mom,” Clarke starts, voice thick. “You should keep that. It was a gift from _ you _, your anniversary-”

“No,” Abby cuts her off, voice soft as she places the watch in Clarke’s hand and closes her fingers around it. “I know it was, but you always loved this watch. We never knew why, it cracked your dad up, the way that you would ask him to take it off so that you could look at it when you were a little girl. He would want you to have it, and I want you to have it too.”

A tear escapes, trailing down Clarke’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

Abby wraps her into a tight hug, kissing the side of her head. When she pulls away, she cups her face with her hands. “You and Lucie meant the world to him, sweetie. He was so proud of you.”

Clarke nods with watery eyes, more tears escaping. She pulls her mother into another hug, knowing that there were no words adequate enough for such a moment. 

_ My heart, my home. _

Why did those words only fill her with an uneasy discontent instead of comfort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently have been listening to old school Mumford and can't get over how perfect Awake My Soul is for this chapter. It was hard to pick the lyrics for the title, so including more here. 
> 
> How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes  
I struggle to find any truth in your lies  
And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know  
My weakness I feel I must finally show  
Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all  
But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall


	20. Oh Darling, I'm With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn. Sorry for the long wait guys. Telework and quarantine have been horrendous for my focus. This chapter is shorter than I usually write and it took me weeks. I'm not usually one for spoilers, but for the sake of not getting your hopes up and leaving you unsatisfied, I will just say that it is not *that* chapter yet. Hope you're all staying safe and healthy. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the song 'I'm With You' by Vance Joy, which is very much a vibe for this chapter.

**~6 years ago**

“I can’t believe that it was just a year ago I was getting ready for Atom’s party, dressed as a slutty nurse.”

Bellamy laughs. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Kind of hard to forget,” he huffs, after a beat.

Clarke looks down at the bowl of candy in her lap as an intense blush floods her cheeks. 

_ Is he flirting with her? _

Sometimes she thinks so, but she never lets her mind linger on it. It’s Bellamy - he’s just a flirtatious, charming guy. He always has been. 

Clarke is saved from responding by two children walking up to the Blake house, dressed as a lion and a witch. 

It was Halloween night and they were spending it at Bellamy’s house, passing out candy to the children in his neighborhood because Aurora had to work. In all the years since Clarke had started coming to the Blakes’ house, she’d never stayed to hand out candy like this. Octavia and her always had a movie night or party to go to elsewhere. 

It was nice at the Blakes’ house for Halloween. Their neighborhood was modest, but seemingly a more tight-knit community than she was used to. Not many kids trick-or-treated in her development. There was so much more space between the houses that it would take an hour just to get through the dozen houses. In contrast, the Blakes’ neighborhood houses had nice front yards and backyards, but were relatively close to one another. His own house was on a flat tree-lined street and she knew the other streets in the neighborhood looked the same.

“Trick-or-treat,” the children recite once they walk up the three steps to the small porch where Bellamy and Clarke are sharing the outdoor loveseat. Their mother is trailing a few feet behind them. The witch can’t be more than seven or so, and the lion is even younger. 

Clarke can’t help but smile widely at them as she drops candy into each of their pumpkin-shaped buckets. They’re adorable. “You’re a very scary witch,” Clarke tells the little girl. The girl beams at the compliment.

“What do you say?” their mom prompts.

“Thank you,” they immediately say in unison. 

The mother must recognize Bellamy, because she walks up the steps after her children. 

“Bellamy, you’re back in town?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy confirms, running a hand through his curls. A nervous gesture, Clarke knows by now. “Change of plans.”

Clarke watches the woman’s curious eyes drift to Clarke, to her bump, before quickly snapping back to Bellamy. “That’s great, hon. How is your mom? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“She’s good. She’s just been working a lot, picking up some extra shifts now that Octavia is gone.”

Clarke’s mind drifts as they continue chatting, Bellamy sharing more about Octavia’s whereabouts with his neighbor. Her hand goes to her sweatshirt-covered bump and she shifts the bowl of candy in front of it, even though it’s a useless gesture. She’s seven months pregnant, there’s really no concealing it at this point. Still, she can’t help but feel self-conscious when people notice. It’s like everyone’s curious eyes seem to reflect that they know she’s eighteen, that she’s not only not married, but pregnant by a one-night stand. She knows it isn’t so simple, and she’s content with the decisions she’s made, but the irrational part of her cares what strangers think. 

Bellamy’s voice pulls her from her trance. She turns to him, sitting next to her in a dark hoodie, his expression soft. The woman and her children are already walking back towards the street. 

“Sorry, what’d you say?” she asks.

“I _ said _, you’re going to be a really good mom.” The smile he gives her is so soft, she feels a physical ache in her chest. He makes it so much harder for her, and he doesn’t even realize it.

Clarke rolls her eyes, but without any malice. “We’ll see.”

“No, really,” Bellamy argues, more insistent this time. “You’re so good with all the kids. You’re a natural.”

“Please, you’re the one who had kids hanging off each shoulder during the summer rec programs.”

Bellamy huffs. “Well, of course _ I’ll _ be great. My parenting skills weren’t the ones in question.”

Clarke elbows his side, a giggle escaping her at his teasing. 

“Cranky,” he teases, reaching into the candy bowl. “Here, have a snickers.”

“You’re not funny,” she scolds as she swats his hand away, but it isn’t very effective given that she’s laughing. “The candy is for the kids.”

Bellamy laughs, dodging her hand and pulling out a fun-size milky way before she can stop him. 

Clarke glares at him as he makes a show of unwrapping and biting into it. He wordlessly offers the other half to her as he chews, eyebrows raised. She begrudgingly takes it from him, popping it in her mouth. She _ does _ love milky ways.

It’s nearly 9pm when Bellamy and Clarke finally go back inside, the air holding a chill and the streets mostly clear of children. Clarke immediately heads to the couch, sitting down and pulling the throw blanket over her as she rubs her cold hands together.

Bellamy chuckles at her. “Want some tea?”

“Maybe,” she hums.

“What do you want?”

“Chamomile.”

“You’ll fall asleep,” he protests.

“Will not.”

“Will too. Anything else. What do you want?”

“Chamomile.”

Bellamy shakes his head as he heads into the kitchen, but she doesn’t miss the small smile he’s wearing. Clarke runs a soothing hand over her bump.

“What are we watching?” she calls.

Clarke hears the click of the stove starting before Bellamy walks back over to her. “It’s Halloween, what do you think we’re watching?”

“Hocus Pocus?” Clarke guesses, hopefully.

Bellamy narrows his eyes at her. “_ Halloween _,” he says slowly, like she needs it broken down.

“That’s scary, I don’t do horror movies,” Clarke protests.

Bellamy gawks at her. “You’ve never seen Halloween?”

Clarke gives him a cheeky smile. “If I say I have, can we watch something else?”

“Well, now we’re _ definitely _ watching it,” he tells her, smirking before he heads back towards the kitchen. 

Bellamy ends up winning out. Soon enough, Clarke is sipping her tea on the opposite side of the couch that Bellamy is sitting at, as Jamie Lee Curtis remains stupidly unaware of Michael Myers stalking her. 

Clarke is glad for the distraction when her phone buzzes with a text, already feeling scared from the movie. The relief is short-lived.

** _Mom: _ ** _ Clarke, have you thought anymore about the lamaze class? I really think we should do it. _

Bellamy must notice the irritation on her face as she reads the text. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke sighs. “My mom. She wants me to take a lamaze - a childbirth - class, and I told her I didn’t want to. Then she went and signed me up for it anyways. It starts next week and she keeps pestering me about going.”

When Bellamy doesn’t say anything, she looks up to face him. He looks confused.

“What?”

“I mean - I’m kind of with your mom here. Why _ wouldn’t _you want to take the class? Maybe it won’t help, but it certainly won’t hurt.”

Clarke huffs.

“Well, why won’t don’t you want to go?” Bellamy reaches over to grab the remote and pauses the movie. 

_ Oh great, _ she thinks. _ This going to be a Conversation. _

Clarke sighs, looking down and fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “I don’t know- I just...I don’t want to be the young girl with her mom at the classes. Like, ‘oh, there’s the knocked up teenager’.” 

Clarke manages to look up at him, but can’t read his expression. She didn’t mean to make him feel guilty. “I didn’t mean-” she starts. 

“No-” he cuts her off. “It’s okay, that’s...that’s valid.” He pauses. “Why don’t I go with you? Only if you want, of course, but I’m happy to go.”

“Oh,” Clarke starts, surprised. For whatever reason, she didn’t really consider that. “It’s just usually the person who’s in the delivery room with you, so I didn’t really think…” she trails off. 

“Oh right,” Bellamy murmurs. “We haven’t really talked about any of this.” It sounds more like he’s speaking aloud than to her directly.

He’s right. For all the ‘reading’ they’ve been doing, she can’t deny that they haven’t really made any decisions. “Do you think we’ve been purposely avoiding it?”

“Yes, probably,” he answers with a laugh. “We should probably come up with like a list or something.” He runs a hand through his waves. Nerves again. “Well, first off, I’m guessing you don’t want me in the delivery room, right?”

“Oh. Honestly, I’m not sure.” That’s the truth. A month ago, she would have given an affirmative _ hell no _ to that. She can’t imagine she’ll ever be in a more vulnerable position than giving birth to their daughter and the thought of Bellamy seeing _ those _ parts of her makes her cringe. But lately, Bellamy’s been her rock. He’s been the one to calm her, to keep her centered. He’s been the one who’s had her back. She finds that when she pushes her insecurities aside, she kind of wants him there. “Do you _ want _ to be there?”

“Well, absolutely I want to be there, but only if you’re comfortable. Whatever you need to feel comfortable, Clarke, that’s what’s most important - that’s what I want.”

“Okay...okay, I’ll think about it. But maybe, you can come to the classes with me regardless. Even if I end up with just my mom with me for the delivery - well, it’s not like she needs the classes.”

Bellamy nods in agreement. 

“I’ll text my mom, tell her we’re doing the classes,” she says, grabbing her phone. “Maybe we can save the other decisions for another night.”

“Deal,” he agrees. 

After Clarke responds to her mom, they turn the movie back on. Yet, she’s barely focused enough on it to actually let it scare her. Bellamy was right. There are a lot of decisions to make. Like what is their living situation going to be? What about their financial one? _ Does _she want him in the delivery room? What about work schedules? She doesn’t have a job, but eventually she’ll go back to school. They’ll need one of those giant, color coordinated calendars. 

Her head is spinning, but just as she starts to feel real anxiety about it, she feels that familiar fluttering in her belly. It gives her a strange sense of confidence, like everything’s going to be okay. Because everything they’re doing is for their daughter, and neither her nor Bellamy would ever let any harm come to her. It makes her feel more confident that they’ll make the right decisions. Tonight, she’ll enjoy the movie. Tomorrow, she’ll pour some coffee and start making lists and plans. Start getting shit done. 

“Is she kicking?” Bellamy asks. It’s adorable, how hopeful he sounds when he asks that. 

Clarke laughs lightly. “How did you know?”

“Because Michael Myers just murdered someone, but you’re just sitting there rubbing your bump with a stupid smile on your face.”

Clarke laughs again and scoots closer to him on the couch so they’re right next to each other. She knows he wants to feel it, but doesn’t want to bother her, so she makes the decision for him. Pulling up her sweatshirt, she guides his hand over her stomach and presses it to her bare skin. No matter how many times he’s done this, the feel of his hand on her still makes her heart race.

“I think we’ve got a future gymnast,” she jokes. “She’s been moving a lot lately.”

Bellamy’s responding grin is boyish. Just pure happiness. Her heart aches. 

“Does it bother you if I keep my hand here?” he asks. He sounds shy, which is uncharacteristic of him. Like he was embarrassed to ask, but it was worth it. 

Clarke shakes her head no. 

“Here,” he prompts, removing his hand from her. She immediately misses the warmth of it as she watches him pull a pillow onto his lap. “Want to lay down? We both know you’re going to fall asleep soon anyways,” he teases. 

“No I’m not,” she argues, but she’s already lying down on her side with her head on the pillow. Bellamy threads his arm under her top arm and places his hand back on her bump, her sweatshirt having ridden up to her rib cage. For a second, Clarke is unsure what to do with her top hand, but she decides to be bold and places it over his. What’s a little platonic cuddling? It doesn’t mean anything. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind, given his hand stays where it is. 

Clarke actually makes an effort to watch the movie now that they’re quiet. She thinks they’re about halfway through and she definitely missed the last fifteen minutes or so, but it’s not exactly a hard film to follow.

“The music is creepy,” she mumbles. She can feel more than hear the rumble of his hum of agreement. 

Another ten minutes or so goes by. Her eyes are growing heavy, but she’s trying her best to stay awake. He may tease her about not being able to stay awake, but he wanted her to see this movie, so she’s really trying. His hand never moves, and neither does hers. Their daughter continues to occasionally kick but she doesn’t think that Bellamy would move if she stopped.

“Still with me?” he asks, voice quiet. As if he doesn’t want to wake her if she did fall asleep. 

“Mhmm,” she hums. 

Another ten minutes pass, and that’s when she starts to feel his fingers threading through her hair, splayed out on the pillow. She nearly hums happily in response, but she’s not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it. It doesn’t feel like something he would do. He’s certainly never played with her hair before. She says nothing because she’s afraid he’ll stop if she does.

She wishes she could sink in this moment, wrap herself in this moment like a safe cocoon. _ Intimacy _, she thinks. That’s what she feels right now, in a way she’s never felt with anyone else in her life. It’s at this precise moment she knows for sure that she wants him in the delivery room with her. She’ll tell him tomorrow, she decides. 

\--∞--

If you asked Bellamy just five hours ago what _ pure joy _ was, he would stumble through an answer. He would say it was complicated, that it was a lot of things. Maybe that it just didn’t exist. But as his fingers card through her blonde waves, he knows differently now. This is it. This is where he wants to live forever. 

He was right - she didn’t make it until the end of the movie. Still, he can’t say he minds. Not when he gets to hold her while she sleeps. He doesnt think these moments will be frequent, so he wants to take advantage of the few he gets. 

The movie ended about thirty minutes ago and he turned on the History Channel, muted it and turned on the captions so Clarke wouldn’t wake. He knows it must be after 11pm when his mom walks in through the front door. Bellamy puts a single finger to his lips to alert Aurora not to make any noise before his fingers go back to her threading through her hair. 

He looks back at his mom when he notices that she doesn’t move from the living room entrance. She has a strange look on her face, one he can’t decipher. Something like both hope and sadness. Some combination that doesn’t make sense. Maybe she’s just surprised to find them cuddling. It’s not like it’s the norm. 

“What?” he whispers. 

“Nothing,” she whispers back, shaking her head. “Is she staying the night?”

“I don’t know. I’ll wake her up soon and ask.”

His mom looks at him again. “Just be careful, Bell,” she murmurs, brow raised in warning. 

Bellamy furrows his own brow at her. “What?”

She doesn’t answer his question. “I’m headed to bed, goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you,” Bellamy murmurs, finding himself slightly irritated by her words. 

Careful of _ what _? 

Bellamy gives himself ten more minutes before he resigns to waking Clarke up. If she doesn’t show up back home soon, her parents are going to worry. 

“Wake up, Princess,” he says quietly. Louder than a whisper, so that she actually hears him, but quiet enough to be gentle. He runs his hand over her stomach once before lifting it off of her. She stirs, rolling onto her back with her head still on the pillow.

Her eyes look adorable like this. Bright blue but hazy with sleep. She’s the artist, but it’s an image he wishes he had the talent to paint. 

“Hi,” she says, before letting out an adorable little laugh. He smiles down on her and hopes his face doesn’t show how completely gone he is for her. “What time is it?”

“It’s after eleven. Do you want to stay here?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, sitting up. On instinct, he puts a hand on her back to help her. He lets go quickly when he realizes it. “I’ll text my mom,” she tells him, reaching for her phone. 

Bellamy stands, reaching an arm over his head and pulling it with the other in a stretch. A yawn escapes him. “I’m going to go make up O’s bed,” he tells her once she sets her phone back down.

She nods and he turns around, but she calls after him.

“Yeah?” he asks, turning to face her again.

“Do you think I could stay in your room?”

Bellamy pauses. He thinks his mouth might awkwardly gape at her words. 

Clarke’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red. “I didn’t mean like- I just-”

“Clarke, that’s totally fine,” he assures her. 

He does a good job of keeping his voice steady and casual for how hard is heart is beating in his chest. He’s under no illusion that Clarke wants anything more than a platonic sleepover. He knows she’s always been a touchy person, it’s just who she is. That doesn’t mean that the thought of her in his bed - under any circumstances - doesn’t drive him wild. 

Bellamy lets Clarke use the bathroom first, offering her some mouthwash since they don’t have a spare toothbrush. He uses it afterwards, changing into pajama pants and a white undershirt while he’s in there. He’s usually a no shirt and boxers kind of guy, but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. 

When he gets back to his room, Clarke is already under the covers. It’s so innocent and yet, his mouth goes dry at the sight of her. He quickly climbs in next to her, before he can say or do something stupid. She’s lying on her side, facing him, and offers a sleepy smile before she yawns and closes her eyes.

“Night, Clarke,” he whispers.

“Night,” she murmurs. 

Bellamy rolls onto his back after a few minutes. He feels wide awake. Clarke’s in his bed, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to sleep a wink because of it. He feels hypersensitive to her presence. Bellamy isn’t sure how much time passes. It could have been ten minutes or it could have been forty. 

“Bell?”

Her voice nearly startles him. She doesn’t sound very groggy.

“Hey,” he says, rolling back onto his side to face her. “I thought you fell asleep.”

“Takes me a while to fall asleep, it’s hard to get comfortable.”

“Should we put on Halloween again? That seemed to do the trick.”

Her responding giggle makes him smile wider. “_ Anyways _,” she continues. He forgot that she wanted to say something. “I have a decision we can cross off the list.”

“Right now? At midnight? What decision would that be?”

“A name.”

Bellamy chuckles. “You want to argue over names right now?”

“We won’t argue.” She says it with the utmost confidence.

“Unless it’s Lucius, I won’t hear of it.” It had been a running joke for them in the last month.

Clarke giggles again. He wishes he could bottle the sound, save it for later. “I mean...kind of.”

That has his attention. “Do tell.”

“Lucy.”

_ Lucy _ , he thinks. It’s a strange feeling. It fits so well that it’s like they didn’t _ pick _ the name, but instead he just uncovered the name. His daughter’s name is Lucy, and it always was. Someone just needed to tell him that.

Bellamy does nothing to dull the toothy smile he’s wearing. “It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Clarke asks, sounding so hopeful.

“Yeah, I love it.”

“Okay - but also, spelled with an ‘-ie’,” she clarifies. “Instead of a ‘y’.” 

“Why the ‘ie’?”

“It’s the French spelling. L-U-C-I-E,” she spells out. “French like Bellamy,” she adds, after a beat.

Bellamy is glad for the dark. He feels choked up at the sentiment and an innate frustration at the universe, that Clarke would tell him this, laying in his bed, and he can’t do anything more than reach over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He wants to kiss her senseless. 

“You’re something else,” he murmurs once he pulls his hand back. 

“You like it?” she asks again.

“It’s perfect, Princess.”

“You do remember that Princess was supposed to be an insult once upon a time?”

Bellamy laughs. “Do you not like it when I call you that?” He keeps his voice teasing, light, but he’s a little concerned that she’s been bothered by it and is only now just telling him. 

“No, I like it,” she confirms. “When you say it.”

Bellamy swallows thickly. He feels like his face is on fire. “Good,” he manages to say, voice rough. “Go to sleep, Clarke.”

She doesn’t say anything more, only closes her eyes in response with a small smile still on her face. 

\--∞--

Clarke is nervous headed into their first lamaze class. It’s only been a few days since Halloween and Bellamy is beside her, like they agreed upon. The morning after Halloween, over breakfast, Clarke told Bellamy that she wanted him to be in the delivery room. She could tell he was excited, even though he was trying to remain nonchalant, probably for the sake of her not feeling pressured about it. But that was that - decisions were being made, and they were doing this.

Clarke didn’t have any regrets about going to lamaze with Bellamy or asking him to be in the delivery room with her, but it still made her nervous. All these things were opening herself to another in a way she never had before. So yeah, she wanted this, but she also dreaded it a little too. She didn’t want him to see anything he didn’t like.

Shallow or not, she does feel a little better with Bellamy by her side walking into the lobby to sign in. When they walk into the room and Clarke looks around, Bellamy guiding her to an open mat on the floor, she realizes that her initial worries were irrational. There are all kinds of pairs here. Two adult women, who could be partners, wives, sisters, or friends for all Clarke knows. There is a clear mother and daughter pair and the daughter is at least 30. There’s another young couple too. There are people from all walks of life and they all seem too focused on their own future to judge those around them. Clarke never needed to be embarrassed, whether she went with Bellamy, her mom, or anyone else. 

They sit down on the mat with Bellamy behind her but she turns around so she can talk to him before the class begins. He’s drumming his fingers on his thigh as he looks over some papers and pamphlets they handed them at the sign in. 

“This is...a lot of information,” she murmurs quietly, looking at her own papers.

“Yeah…” he agrees. He sounds just as nervous about it.

Thankfully, they don’t have too much time to dwell on that before the class actually starts. Overall, the class isn’t _ bad _ . The nurse leading it is funny and charismatic, breaking some of what Clarke is sure would be nervous tension in the room. As she speaks, Clarke experiences waves of anxiety and relief, one after another. There is so much she didn’t - _ doesn’t _ \- know, there is so much she still needs to learn. She didn’t even know what she didn’t know. But there’s relief in the fact she decided to take this class. It’s already making her feel a little more confident as she’s slowly armed with more knowledge and tools. But still - to say that it’s overwhelming would be an understatement.

This first class is mostly informational, and thankfully it seems to be designed in such a way that they’re starting at surface level things before diving into the harder parts. The nurse reviews general things about what to expect during the third trimester, such as changes to expect and nutritional needs. While it does feel a little uncomfortable to be discussing all these very detailed aspects of her body with Bellamy there, she tries to push past it. They’re adults. She can do this. At least he’s behind her on the mat so she doesn’t have to look at him. 

The last twenty minutes of class are designated to an activity portion. She’s never liked the activity parts of classes in school and she isn’t looking forward to it now. The nurse talks about the normal discomforts they’ll likely experience, if they aren’t already, and instructs different remedies to try. Bellamy presses the heel of his hand to her lower back and Clarke is surprised to discover it’s not really awkward. It’s just...it’s just Bellamy. She may be the one carrying their baby, but they’re partners in this. He isn’t just assisting her, they’re doing this together. 

In these activities, the nurse also talks about progressive relaxation and the importance of positive imagery and positive affirmations from your partner. Against her will, Clarke has a flashback of Bellamy’s lips to her ears.

_ That’s it, _he had encouraged her, his finger inside of her. 

_ You want me to take care of you? _he had asked, although it wasn’t really a question. It didn’t really demand an answer, his tongue swiping across the soft skin of her neck.

Clarke can’t help physically shivering at the memory.

“You okay?” Bellamy whispers form behind her. 

Clarke nods. What is _ wrong _ with her? Those are _ not _the affirmations this nurse is talking about.

Thankfully, it isn’t long before the class ends. They’re both quiet while they walk to his car, lost in their own thoughts, absorbing everything from the last two hours.

They both sit in the car, quiet for a moment, staring ahead at nothing. Bellamy makes no move to start the car and Clarke doesn’t ask why.

“So,” he finally says. “That was...that was a lot.”

Clarke lets out a long sigh, before turning to look at him. “That was a lot,” she agrees. At least she’s not the only one feeling overwhelmed.

He looks at her, and if it wasn’t for the teasing glint in his eye and the smile he’s attempting to bite back, his words might hit differently. “I am _ very _ sorry I knocked you up.”

It’s all it takes to break through their nervous tension and Clarke breaks into hysterical laughter, throwing her head against the back of the seat. It reminds her of their New Year’s Eve together, when she got in his car drunk and crying, only to find him beat up. It’s the kind of laughter that takes over when you’re delirious with a lot of other emotions that you can’t quiet process yet.

“Oh my god,” she groans. “This is going to be terrible. Like I knew that, but holy _ shit _ .” She breaks into another round of giggles. “I don’t even know why I’m laughing, this is so _ not _ funny,” she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as she attempts to calm down.

Bellamy shuffles through the papers. “Right here,” he says, pointing to one of the sheets. But he can barely get his words out, because he’s laughing too. “Third trimester changes. You may laugh or cry easily.”

“Shut up,” she laughs. She sucks in a deep breath, sighing it out a moment later. “Are we going to be able to do this?”

She says it more like she’s asking the universe than him, but he answers anyways. “We’re going to crush it, Clarke,” he says. There’s a teasing undertone, but his words are still sincere and comfort her all the same. 

Clarke sighs again. “I want pizza.”

“Alright,” Bellamy laughs, starting the car. “Pizza it is.”

\--∞--

By 7pm, Bellamy and Clarke are working in the nursery. Bellamy is putting together the crib while Clarke is finishing up the mural that takes up the entire wall opposite the one looking over the backyard. It’s a scene that looks like the woods at night, with the stars and moon in the sky. But it looks more enchanting than creepy, like a scene from a disney movie. He doesn’t know how she does it.

“How’s it coming?” she asks, grabbing another slice of pizza from the box in the middle of the room. 

“It’s...coming,” he laughs, trying to screw in one of the legs. 

“Need help?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.” He’s lucky he’s worked enough construction jobs that these types of projects are fairly easy for him. 

Clarke goes back to her mural, humming easily to the Vance Joy song playing on her spotify playlist between bites of pizza. It’s taking him longer to finish the crib because of it. He just wants to sit and watch her.

“This is looking great.”

Bellamy looks up to find Jake standing at the doorway. 

“Thanks,” he answers. “It’s coming along.”

Jake walks into the room to get a better view of Clarke’s mural. “That’s beautiful, hon.”

Clarke mumbles a thanks while chewing on a piece of crust, but remains focused. She gets into a zone when she draws and paints, gets lost in some other world Bellamy isn’t privy to. He wishes he could follow her there. 

“Hey, Bellamy. Come have a beer with me.”

Bellamy freezes, pausing his hand mid-twist of the screwdriver. Jake chuckles. He must sense his trepidation. “I promise it’s not a trap or a test.”

Jake’s smile _ does _ look more genuine than usual. Besides, it’s not like he was going to say no anyways.

“Alright,” Bellamy agrees, standing and brushing his hands off. “I’ll be back,” he tells Clarke, but she ignores him, still humming along to the song. 

Jake leads them down to the kitchen, pulls two beers out of the fridge, and then walks out to their back patio. It’s chilly, it being the first week of November, but not so much that it’s uncomfortable for them given the sweatshirts they’re both wearing. Bellamy takes a generous swig of his beer once they sit down on opposite sides of the patio table, both chairs facing the backyard. He hasn’t felt this uncomfortable in a pretty long time.

“I should probably start with an apology,” Jake says. 

Bellamy sighs. He doesn’t really want to do this. “It’s fine - and you already apologized.”

“Well, we both know I didn’t mean it,” Jake counters.

Bellamy can’t help but let out a laugh at that. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“It’s not an excuse, but - well, when your daughter is born, you’ll understand.”

“I already do,” Bellamy tells him, honestly. He does, truly. 

“Well, I misjudged you, because I was being overprotective. But I think it’s pretty clear that you care about Clarke. I’m trusting you to do good by her and my granddaughter.”

“Clarke is-” he starts, voice a little choked. He swallows. “Clarke is my best friend. I’d never hurt her. There’s nothing more important to me than her and our daughter.”

Jake nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “You know, I actually believe you. I can see that now. But if you ever give me a reason not to, we’ll have problems again.”

It’s a warning, but Bellamy doesn’t really mind it. He’s not insulted by it. He feels the same protectiveness over the people Jake is warning him not to hurt.

“I won’t,” Bellamy promises.

“Good,” Jake nods. “What I actually wanted to talk to you about, is you coming to live with us.”

Bellamy pauses with his beer to his lips, slowly setting it back down. He thought this was just going to be Jake giving him a more sincere apology and warning. He didn’t expect this.

“Live with you guys?”

“With the baby coming, I think it would be best and easiest for everyone. We’ve certainly got the space. I’ve already discussed it with Clarke and Abby but I wanted to be the one to ask you. I wanted to make it clear that I - that we - will not be a problem if you decide to move in here.”

“Oh,” Bellamy says. He still feels a little hesitant, but he can’t deny the idea makes him happy. Relieved even. It was something stressful in the back of his mind, how he would have less time with his daughter since she wouldn’t be able to live with him as a newborn. “If you guys are sure, then I would love that.”

“That’s great,” Jake says, giving him a smile. It might be the most genuine one Bellamy has received to date. “You’ll be by Clarke’s side raising your daughter. That’s how it should be.”

“Even if we weren’t under the same roof, I’d still be by Clarke’s side. I’d never leave her.”

He’s a little embarrassed of how naturally the comment slips out. A little embarrassed by the conviction in his voice. But it’s true.

Jake pauses for a moment, as if thinking over his words. “I promised Clarke I wouldn’t say anything embarrassing if she let me talk to you,” Jake starts.

Bellamy laughs. He can imagine Clarke warning him. 

“But I’ll just say this. Clarke thinks she can handle everything alone. She probably _ could _. She’s strong. But she shouldn’t have to.”

“I know,” Bellamy agrees. “She never will have to.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” There’s something more gentle in Jake’s tone now. “With Clarke...if Clarke pushes you away, that’s when she needs you most.” Jake turns so that he’s looking directly at Bellamy. It feels like he’s asking for something, even though there isn’t really a question. “If she tells you to go, that’s when you have to stay.”

Bellamy swallows thickly. “I’ll always stay,” he promises. That’s the moment he realizes it, just how deeply in love with her he’s fallen. He hadn’t even truly understood that until this moment. His love for her already feels like part of who he is. 


	21. This Is Me Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the comments and kudos - since I last posted I reached over 1k kudos which is a first for me, so I'm really excited and it means a lot. As some of you might have noticed, I cut the chapter # down from 30 to 25. I realized I'd unnecessarily be dragging the story out so it's going to end at 25. Three more 'present' chapters (including this one) and two more flashback chapters. 
> 
> I think most of you know the drill by now, but if not, the reason this update took a while is because I'm participating in the Bellarke Writers for BLM Initiative, where myself and [other writers](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/writers) are accepting prompts in exchange for a donation to an organization that supports the BLM cause. For my own prompts, I am matching the donation when I post and accepting WIP update requests as prompts. I am writing the prompts/updates in the order of request, and that's why I am just updating ABOY now. (Please don't request an ABOY update because chapters 22-25 are already requested). Non-bellarke writers are also participating and no amount is too small - learn more by visiting the [carrd](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.carrd.co/) and feel free to message or DM me for more details! 
> 
> A special thanks to [chickens474](https://chickens474.tumblr.com) who donated for the initiative and requested an ABOY update as a prompt. So you guys are aware, the next two prompts are also for ABOY updates, so ch 22 should be posted in the next week or two. 
> 
> Chapter title is from 'this is me trying' off of taylor's new album folklore, because of course.

“Was this a bad idea?” Clarke mutters, mostly to herself. Her eyes scan the four buses in the parking lot, the space in front of them swarming with kindergarteners, parents, and teachers. She’s exhausted just looking at the sight before her. 

Cillian laughs from where he’s sitting next to her in the driver’s seat. “You guys are going to have a blast. Right, Lucie?”

“ _ Exactly _ ,” Lucie agrees, clearly exasperated with her mother’s hesitation. “Can we go now, Mom?”

Clarke doesn’t get a chance to respond. 

“Dad!” Lucie calls excitedly, tumbling out of the car. Clarke’s gaze follows Lucie to where she’s running across the parking lot to meet Bellamy. He’s wearing a faded pair of jeans and a dark red plaid flannel over a white t-shirt.

_ Damn, he looks good _ , she thinks, before she can stop the thought. Like always, the guilt floods her immediately.

_ Would Cillian be okay with this trip, if he knew? _

“Get going, babe,” he tells her, snapping her out of her self-imposed guilt trip. Clarke flashes a look full of dread at her fiance, only half jokingly. “It’s only one night,” he reminds her, voice soft. 

Clarke nods, sighing as she climbs out of the car. Cillian pops open the trunk for her and by the time she’s reaching for her bags, Bellamy is already walking up to the car, Lucie in tow. 

“I got it,” he tells her, lifting up her bag for her before she can protest. 

“Thanks,” she smiles, shutting the trunk.

In moments like these, Clarke can almost pretend that things are normal between them. But since they slept together two weeks ago, anytime they’re in a room together without anything specific to say, it feels like a strange tension settles over them. Six years of mastering comfortable silence and they managed to wreck it in a single night. Maybe this trip is a chance to work on that. Or, conversely, maybe this trip will be one long, awkward, terrible weekend.

Bellamy gives Cillian a short wave as he walks by, carrying Clarke’s bag and holding Lucie’s hand. Cillian waves back and leans out the open window as Clarke walks up to him.

“Sure you’ve got everything?” he asks.

Clarke nods. “Should be good.”

“Try to have fun. It’ll be a good distraction.”

If it was only her father’s death that she needed a distraction from, he would probably be right.

“I will,” she assures him, leaning down to give him a goodbye peck on the lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The words feel empty in a way that unsettles Clarke more than she can explain. 

\--∞--

The teachers divided the busses by classroom, which was easy enough. Family chaperones rode on the same bus as their kid and the teacher chaperones were split equally between the four buses. Clarke realizes that there seems to be a lot of chaperones, so at least there’s that. Ms. Workman must have convinced the rest of them during the parent teacher conferences, because there seem to be plenty of parents here now. Maybe this won’t be quite as overwhelming as she expected. 

Clarke gets held up talking with a mother of one of Lucie’s friends and ends up being one of the last ones to get onto the bus. When she does, her eyes sweep over the seats, memories of being a lonely, withdrawn child washing over her like it was only yesterday. Then her gaze lands on Bellamy, sitting on the aisle side of the bench with an empty space next to him, and she feels an overwhelming relief. He’s already got his nose buried in a book, drawing a smile from her.

Clarke walks towards him, about halfway to the back of the bus.

“Aren’t you supposed to be  _ chaperoning _ ?” she teases. 

His head pops up from his book and he gives her a soft smile that somehow wounds her. 

“Hey, bus buddy.”

Clarke forces herself to playfully roll her eyes, determined to move past the tension she still feels around him. 

“Saved you the window seat,” he adds, standing so that she can get past him. 

“Appreciated,” she laughs.

Another parent happens to be standing in the aisle, talking to a kid in the seat behind them, so Bellamy does his best to lean back and give Clarke the space to squeeze by him. She holds her breath as she slides past him, unable to prevent herself from brushing up against him as does. A chill runs up her spine. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, letting out a sigh as she flops into the seat. Bellamy doesn’t answer as he sits back down, settling back into the seat again.

“Where’s our kid anyways?” Clarke asks, standing slightly so that she can turn around and survey the rest of the bus. “I’m surprised you didn’t choose the seat behind her,” she teases. 

Bellamy laughs as Clarke locates her, sitting next to Charlotte a few benches back and on the opposite side of the aisle. Clarke also notes that Roma is a few benches behind them, chatting with another mother. 

“Well, I’m trying my best to maintain my position as the cool parent,” he quips. 

Clarke huffs as she sits back down. “You are  _ not _ the cool parent.”

Bellamy laughs. “Whatever you say, princess.” 

Clarke can tell it was an unintentional slip by the way he stumbled over the end of the word, unsuccessfully trying to pull it back. Clarke doesn’t need a mirror to know her cheeks turn a deep shade of red. 

_ I got you, princess. _

_ That’s it. _

She busies herself by looking through her backpack, turning away from Bellamy. He says nothing, opening his book again. The bus begins to move as Clarke locates her water bottle - if it hadn’t, she thinks there’s a good chance she would have called it a day and ran off of it. But now they’re pulling out of the school parking lot, and there’s no turning back.

She sips her water, only making it through about four minutes of silence before she can’t take it any longer. 

“What are you reading?” she tries.

Bellamy chuckles, holding up the book cover. “Something that would put you to sleep.”

Clarke peers at the title and it is indeed, some historical non-fiction book about the Byzantine Empire. Clarke smiles, shaking her head as Bellamy pulls the book back again.

“You’re not wrong.”

Leaning down to put her water bottle back in her backpack, she notices the small newspaper-wrapped rectangle she placed there. Well...one more thing she can do that isn’t sitting in silence next to Bellamy, dwelling on his presence. Besides, there might not be another good moment. 

“Oh, I-” she starts, distracted by pulling it out of the backpack. Bellamy turns to look at her. 

“I didn’t want you to think we forgot your birthday,” she finishes, handing it off to him. 

Bellamy’s birthday was a few days ago, but being in the aftermath of Jake’s death, nobody so much as mentioned having any kind of party. So while it hadn’t gone  _ unrecognized _ , his birthday had largely gone uncelebrated. This felt like the absolute least that Clarke could do. 

Bellamy dog-ears his book before accepting it, shaking his head at the comment. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” she argues. “You only turn 30 once,” she laughs, bumping his shoulder teasingly. “No amount of craziness in our lives could make me forget.”

Bellamy gives her a soft smile that makes her chest ache before turning back towards the gift.

“Sorry for the wrapping job,” she laughs, feeling genuinely a little bad about it. 

“No, look here,” he teases, pointing out the paint splatter on it. The newspapers  _ may _ have come from her garage turned art studio. “It’s festive.”

Clarke laughs, rolling her eyes. “Just open it.”

Bellamy tears into the paper, pulling out the small frame that Clarke put the painting in. 

“It isn’t much,” she starts, as if by warning. 

“Yes, it is,” he counters, eyes on the painting instead of her, a smile breaking out on his face.

Clarke painted a picture taken from the previous New Year’s Eve, a selfie of them with Lucie between them. Lucie is giggling, her  _ Happy New Year  _ headband crooked on her head, face smushed between her parents. 

“Thank you,” he tells her, finally turning to face her. “I love it.”

His voice sounds so genuine, his eyes look so sincere. Clarke swallows thickly.

She nearly tells him that she started working on it on New Year’s Day, the morning after their fight. That she started painting it because she missed him and needed someway to lose herself in a better time, one with him by her side, as her partner.

She nearly tells him that it wasn’t so different from the last time she gave him a painting for his birthday, seven years ago. That she had started that painting upon hearing how he was seeing someone back in Sacramento because of how upset it made her - because painting him at the diner let her pull him into the strange world she drifts into when she paints. It’s a safe world, a loving one, and she wanted him there with her. 

She nearly tells him, but she doesn’t.

“You’re welcome,” she says instead, smiling at him and hoping that he isn’t able to see through her. 

When Bellamy leans down to put the painting into his own backpack, Clarke takes the opportunity to settle against the window and look out. She can feel Bellamy’s gaze on her for a beat before she hears him open his book again.

\--∞--

It’s nearly two hours before they finally reach the campsite, a little before noon. A two hour car ride isn’t bad, but a two hour bus ride with dozens of six year olds is another story. They’re already antsy and rambunctious, eager to explore. 

Clarke continues to gaze out the window as Ms. Workman finally quiets the kids and begins explaining some of the rules. The forest they’re driving through is already green, despite it being early February. It doesn’t take long for the area around Arkadia to bloom for spring given that its winters are far from harsh and more akin to fall weather in the Northeast, only with the occasional snowfall. For a moment, gazing at the nature they pass by, she thinks that maybe Cillian was right about this being a good distraction. But then the kids start clamoring again and she turns and remembers that Bellamy is sitting beside her, and she’s unsure all over again. Still, it’s hard not to be happy when she twists in her seat to check on Lucie and sees her smiling and chatting excitedly with her friends, all of them talking over each other. 

Taking a deep breath, Clarke resolves to try her best to have a good time. She’s here to spend time with her daughter, not stress about her own issues - and that’s exactly what she’s going to do. For the most part, Clarke succeeds in doing so.

At the very least, chaperoning dozens of six year olds keeps Clarke busy enough all day that it doesn’t allow her mind to wander towards thoughts of her father, Bellamy, or Cillian. It’s enough for Clarke to watch Lucie having fun with her friends, from the nature scavenger hunt they set up all the way through dinner and making s’mores afterwards. By the time the sun is setting, Clarke is just glad that the kids look as exhausted as she feels. Getting them ready for bed with brushed teeth is it’s own challenge, the walk to the communal bathrooms taking about ten minutes. Still, within an hour or so, the kids are snuggling into their assigned tents. It’s nearly 9pm, which is late for most of them. 

“Mom?”

“Yeah, honey?” Clarke asks. 

She’s on her hands and knees, smoothing out the last of the sleeping bags and more than ready to climb into it. They’re in one of the extra-large tents the school brought with them, a camping lantern keeping the tent fairly bright. The tents are big enough to fit about six to eight kids and one to two chaperones. Clarke is with another mother, but she’s kind and most importantly, quiet, so she doesn’t really mind.

“Will you braid Charlotte’s hair like you do mine?”

Clarke looks up to see Charlotte looking at her with a shy but expectant expression. 

“Of course,” Clarke smiles at her. Charlotte crawls over Lucie’s sleeping bag to the one next to it that Clarke is sitting on. Clarke starts combing through Charlotte’s hair with her fingers as Lucie watches intently from beside her, as if she’s supervising. 

“My dad does it better,” Lucie tells Charlotte as Clarke starts separating the hair. “But my mom is good too.”

Clarke huffs, letting out a surprised laugh as she tilts her head at her daughter. “Thanks, Luce.”

Lucie shrugs, unphased. “It’s true.”

Clarke laughs again and says nothing more as she begins french braiding Charlotte’s hair. Unfortunately, it’s true. Thanks to practice on Octavia, Bellamy’s braiding ability has always been superior. He beats her there, fair and square. 

“All done,” she tells Charlotte a few minutes later, patting her head. Charlotte murmurs a shy thank you before crawling back to her sleeping bag. 

Ten minutes later, everyone is in their sleeping bags and the other chaperone turns off the lantern, plunging the tent into darkness. Still, the single fire burning outside casts an orange glow on the flimsy walls of the tent so it isn’t pitch black. Clarke turns onto her side, hands under her head, not feeling tired in the least bit. She does her best not to toss and turn over the next hour or so, not wanting to keep the girls up, but she doesn’t think she’s doing a very good job. 

Her mind wanders in every direction, the grief for her father feeling sharper in the quiet of the night. Then, despite how many times she’s braided her daughter’s hair before without thinking about it, her mind wanders to another memory that makes her heart ache. Bellamy’s fingers threading through own hair - intense contractions washing over her and his whispers of reassurance in her ear. The tent suddenly feels too small, too hot and crowded. She unzips her sleeping bag as quietly as she can manage and side steps kids on the way to unzip the tent flap. The other chaperone quickly sits up, mom ears on high alert, but Clarke whispers that it’s only her before she climbs out of the tent, zipping it up behind her. 

Slipping on her boots, Clarke looks over to the fire where the singular chaperone chosen for the first night watch shift is sitting there. Clarke wanders closer, planning to walk past them. She only realizes that the silhouette belongs to Bellamy once it’s too late. The dark shape of him straightens in recognition. 

“Clarke?”

Clarke bites her lip, resigned to walking over to him. He’ll never let her go for a walk by herself. In fact, if she were thinking clearly, she would probably agree with him. 

“How’d you get stuck with this?” Clarke asks, sitting down on the log beside him. 

Bellamy chuckles. “Short straw.”

Clarke breathes out a laugh, gaze trained on the fire burning in front of them.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he prompts.

Clarke shakes her head. 

“It’ll get easier,” he promises, voice impossibly soft.

Clarke swallows, feeling pesky tears fighting their way to the surface. It should concern her - she’s not usually much of a crier. But everything is wrong these days. 

“I know,” she agrees.

They sit in quiet for a few moments, listening to the crackling fire and sounds of the woods in the distance. For the first time in a while, it’s a comfortable enough silence that settles over them. Clarke feels at ease beside him, calmer than she did in a tent, which is bewildering given he’s the cause of half of her problems. She lets her mind wander, trying to focus on the good memories of her dad, even though it’s the moment in the hospital that usually haunts her. Still, thanks to Bellamy, she has the memories of her friends sharing all the good stories too. 

“Thank you, by the way.”

Bellamy turns to her, eyebrow raised in confusion. “For what?”

Clarke offers a crooked smile that doesn’t quiet meet her eyes. “Putting together the party on the beach, for my dad. I know that was you.”

Bellamy quickly shakes his head. “That was everyone, it was a group effort.”

Clarke laughs, mouth agape in mock surprise. “Bellamy Blake, you’re a terrible liar.”

Bellamy just smiles, knowing he’s been caught, and turns back towards the fire. “It really was a group effort,” he concedes, a beat later.

“But your idea,” Clarke argues. “It was-” Clarke pauses, searching for the right words. “It was just what my mom and I needed. So thank you,” she says again, briefly placing a hand over his knee. She doesn’t let it linger before pulling it back.

Bellamy sighs. “I miss him too.”

Clarke nods knowingly. 

“Not that - I know it’s not the same-” 

“No,” Clarke cuts him off. “It is, in a sense. He loved you like a son.”

Clarke knows Bellamy like the back of her hand, which is how she knows that the way he physically tenses at her words is an attempt to rein in his emotions. She waits patiently, saying nothing. Eventually Bellamy throws his head back in a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Who would have thought, huh?”

“Wasn’t looking good in the first quarter.”

Bellamy laughs even harder at her words. Then, as if they realize they shouldn’t be laughing, it dissipates into silence again.

“Ah, fuck,” Bellamy sighs. 

Clarke allows a few more moments of silence to settle over them before she speaks again. 

“You were pretty quiet, at the beach.” Her voice is soft - as unsteady and unsure as their relationship has felt lately. 

Bellamy bites on his bottom lip, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, fingers threaded together. More silence stretches between them, the sound of crickets in the distance sounding much louder than they actually are. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke starts. “I didn’t mean - I didn’t  _ mind _ , I was just...curious, I guess.”

Bellamy turns to face her and the intensity of his gaze is something she hasn’t witnessed since they spent the night together. Since his eyes bore into hers as he moved inside of her. Her stomach flips at the memory. It’s almost as if he’s trying to find something in her own eyes, but she doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

“There were so many good moments, countless good memories,” he starts, turning back towards the fire as he finally begins speaking. His voice sounds strange to her - gruff, and something else. But maybe it’s the night playing tricks on her ears. Moments always feel heavier under the cover of darkness. “But I just - my mind kept going back to this one memory in particular. It was like I couldn’t remember anything else, except this one moment with your dad.”

Bellamy pauses and Clarke’s eyes remain trained on him, waiting for him to continue. 

“Do you remember that night - the night your dad asked me to move in with you guys? We were painting the nursery, eating pizza-”

“I remember,” she tells him softly. 

“Did he ever tell you what he said?”

Clarke shakes her head, tongue feeling too heavy for words. Bellamy must see, out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, he apologized again,” Bellamy explains, smiling wryly. “But then he told me how he had misjudged me, because of how overprotective he was, and that he was trusting me to do good by you and Lucie. I told him you were my best friend - that I’d never hurt you and that you and Luce were the most important things to me,” he continues. 

Bellamy’s voice wavers on the last word and Clarke feels tears prick her eyes. He shifts, turning to face her and inevitably ending up closer to her, leaving no space between them on the log. Clarke’s heart is racing, and she isn’t even sure why. It’s like her body, her heart, knows something that her mind hasn’t caught up with yet. 

“Why couldn’t you share that one?” she whispers. 

“Because then he told me something that I’ve never forgotten. He said that when you push people away, it’s when you need them most.”

Clarke quickly turns her gaze towards the fire, biting down on her lip so she doesn’t let any tears escape. Bellamy has no mercy on her and keeps going, his voice even lower this time.

“He said that if you told me to go, I should stay - and I promised him. I promised him I would always stay.”

Clarke shakes her head, tears escaping down her cheeks, as she remembers the night they spent together when she was at her worst.

_ “Bellamy, you can leave if you’re going to treat me like a child.” _

_ “I’m not going anywhere.” _

_ “It’s my house, you are if I say you are.” _

_ “Clarke. I’m not going anywhere.” _

_ “Please, don’t leave.” _

_ “Never, Clarke. Never.” _

Clarke forces herself to turn back towards Bellamy, finding his face unexpectedly close to her. She sucks in a breath in surprise and his hands move to wipe away her tears. When she’s brave enough to look up into his eyes, even in the dark with only the orange glow of the fire reflecting in them, she can see his own tears glisten. Bellamy’s forehead falls against hers and Clarke is bewildered that she lets it. She closes her eyes at the sensation, the feel of his hands cupping her face, his fingers in her hair. 

“I couldn’t share that,” he whispers, so quietly that she only hears him because they’re close enough to share the same breath. “I couldn’t because I couldn’t tell everyone about the moment I knew for certain that I was in love with you.”

Clarke stays frozen, breath unsteady, unable to open her eyes. She feels his lips press against hers - it’s not quite a kiss, as they brush against hers. It’s a question. He’s waiting for her to push him away, but she doesn’t. Bellamy presses his lips more firmly against hers and finally, she kisses him back, an invisible string always pulling her back to him. She sighs into his mouth when he deepens the kiss, mind blank as she loses herself in the feel of his tongue. She can hear, feel even, the sharp intake of his breath as she leans closer. They kiss desperately, two people needing to be as close as possible in whatever way they can. All she can do is feel when she’s with him - its terrifying and addicting how he lifts her from reality. How he can take her to some world where nothing but the two of them exist - no complications or consequences. It’s that singular thought that allows her guilt to slam back into her, an emotional slap to the face. 

Clarke inhales sharply, abruptly pulling away from him at the same time she pushes him gently away, hands on his warm chest. 

“Clarke-” he starts, cutting himself off when she stands and takes a step away from him. She squeezes her eyes shut, rubbing her hands over her face. 

“You can’t just - you can’t,” she stutters in a forceful whisper. “Not after all this time. Not after - there were so many…”

“Clarke,” he tries again, voice quiet. She opens her eyes to find him looking up at her like he’s trying to calm a wild animal, which feels all too accurate. The heavy grief from their conversation about her father, the longing for the man in front of her, the anger at him for only saying something when it already feels too late - they swarm in Clarke all at once.

“I can’t keep doing this to Cillian,” she whimpers, shaking her head. “It isn’t fair to him.”

“Clarke,  _ please _ ,” he tries again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - I- can we just talk?”

Clarke’s eyes widen at him. “No- no!” she snaps, increasingly frustrated. By some miracle, she’s still managing to keep her voice quiet. “You don’t get to explain or  _ confess _ or - not now. It’s too late.”

Bellamy rubs his hands across his face. “I made a mistake. After we...I shouldn’t have said-”

“No,” Clarke cuts him off. “ _ I  _ made a mistake.  _ We  _ made a mistake. It never should have happened, and that’s on me. But it has to be done. I can’t - I can’t do this.”

Clarke doesn’t wait for him to respond before walking off down the road towards the bathrooms, no longer concerned about any potential dangers. She doesn’t think anything could possibly hurt her worse than this already has. 

\--∞--

Clarke sits on the toilet, elbows on her knees and face in her hands, trying to remember a time she felt more low than this. In fact, she barely even minds how absolutely disgusting the bathroom is, which is saying a lot. She had made sure that no one else was in there before she let her sob break loose, shutting herself into a stall. But that was over twenty minutes ago and she had run out of tears. Now, with bloodshot eyes, she stared at the ground and thought of all the ways she’d manage to make a mess out of her life. 

Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to stand and exit the stall. If she doesn’t return to the tent soon, the other mother will be worried. She moves to the sink and splashes cold water on her face. Patting her face with a paper towel, she recognizes that her residual sniffles sound absolutely pathetic. She’s so lost in her own thoughts, that she doesn’t register the creak of the old screen door swinging open.

“Clarke?”

Clarke bites down on her lip at the sound of Roma’s voice. 

_ Of all fucking people. _

Steeling herself, Clarke turns to face her. Roma is wearing a worried expression, blue eyes wide and her pretty brown hair thrown into a messy bun that isn’t actually messy at all. 

“You okay?” she asks. 

It’s only then that Clarke realizes she never answered her. She shakes her head at herself. 

“I’m fine, just - just a lot going on. That’s all.”

Roma nods sympathetically and Clarke turns back towards the mirror before she does something stupid like start crying in front of her. Roma understands the cue and begins walking towards one of the bathroom stalls, has just opened its door when Clarke turns again, calling to her. Roma pauses with her hand on the stall door, giving a slight tilt of her head to indicate she’s listening.

“I’m sorry, for interrupting your date.”

Clarke can hardly understand the thought process that leads her to say it, and in the end blames it on the cocktail of guilt and heartache coursing through her veins. Maybe she can make just one thing better. 

Roma purses her lips, not offended, but seemingly contemplative. 

“I think it was for the best,” she says after a beat. “It was never going to work in the long run.”

Clarke furrows her brow at her. “Why not?”

Roma smiles at her. 

“Clarke,” is all she says, implying she should know the answer already. But she doesn’t. 

“I don’t-” Clarke starts, but Roma shakes her head, cutting her off.

“You should ask Bellamy about it,” she tells her. 

Clarke only nods, feeling bad enough about accosting the woman who only wanted to use the bathroom. Roma goes into the stall and Clarke takes a deep breath, stepping back into the darkness. 

\--∞--

Clarke is the first on the bus this time. The kids are already on board and Clarke gives Lucie a quick glance before sliding into an empty bench. She thinks there’s about a 50/50 chance that Bellamy actually sits next to her. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he slides in beside her. She doesn’t acknowledge him, her gaze carefully trained on the view outside her window as the bus starts moving. 

They’ve only just pulled onto the main road when Bellamy speaks, voice low and quiet.

“Clarke,” he tries.

She turns to look at him, lips pursed and eyes hard. 

“Not here,” she warns, with a single shake of her head. She turns back towards the window and Bellamy pulls out his book. The ride back to Arkadia is a silent one.

The whole way back, Clarke’s mind plays through everything Bellamy and her have gone through the past seven years and beyond. She hits a wall everytime - Lucie. Because Bellamy was never interested in her before he found out about Lucie, and how can she possibly know that he’s able to separate his feelings for her from his feelings about their family, his feelings about Cillian encroaching. Surely, it’s not a coincidence that he suddenly wants her after all this time, after all these years. It’s only been since her and Cillian were engaged. It’s not that she blames him - he probably believes that he loves her. It’s just...it’s just not what he thinks it is. It’s a risk she can’t take. If they were to get together only for Bellamy to realize that she was right about it, it would break her. She would never come back from it.

\--∞--

Bellamy is exhausted by the time the bus pulls into the school parking lot. He feels like his body and mind are both running on autopilot, unable to process anything. There isn’t a single time Bellamy can remember not wanting Lucie with him, but he’s glad for it now. The thought of having to pretend that he’s okay when he’s anything but is an exhausting exercise that he wants no part in. 

Clarke doesn’t say another word to him as they make their way off the bus and retrieve their bags. Still, he knows that she’s right in that sense -  _ not here _ . In truth, he doesn’t know what he was thinking. Sure, he had decided he needed to come clean with Clarke about his feelings and had been thinking about it all week. But blurting it out at their daughter’s school camping trip was certainly not the plan, and to say he had regrets was an understatement. 

Still, as Bellamy kisses his daughter goodbye and watches the two of them walk away, he doesn’t feel any less discouraged about finishing their conversation. Even as she moves further and further from him. Even as she greets her fiance with a peck on the lips and a hug. Even then, he knows he isn’t giving up yet.

\--∞--

Bellamy unlocks the door to his apartment on Wednesday afternoon, letting Lucie and himself in. His phone buzzes as his daughter flies past him, dropping her backpack on the floor and heading straight for the television. 

“Uh, no,” he calls quickly as he pulls his phone from his back pocket. He points at her backpack when she turns around, pursing her lips at him in a sassy way that screams of her mother. 

“Homework,” he warns. 

Lucie begrudgingly stomps over to her backpack and picks it up, bringing it back with her to the living room as Bellamy reads a text from Raven on his lockscreen.

** _Raven: _ ** _ On my way, should be there in fifteen or so. _

Bellamy quickly answers with a thumbs up emoji before heading back towards Lucie. 

“I heard Raven is considering icecream after dinner, if you get your homework done first,” Bellamy prompts. He smirks when his daughter begins pulling out her folders with more enthusiasm than a moment ago.

Bellamy heads to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water in an attempt to soothe his mouth, gone dry from nerves. Him and Clarke haven’t said a word to each other that wasn’t related to their daughter and her schedule since they returned to Arkadia on Sunday, but that was changing tonight. Bellamy had spent the last couple of days agonizing about what to do or say and reached a single conclusion: regardless of how it goes, he has to come clean with Clarke. He has to let it all go, finally be honest, and let the cards fall where they lay. At this point, they’re beyond the risk of ruining things. If anything, he just needs her to hear him out this one last time. After that, if she doesn’t want him, then he needs to finally accept it. If that’s true, then he needs to be serious about truly moving on. 

Bellamy is still standing in the kitchen, leaning with his back against the counter and dwelling on how the night might go, when Raven walks into the apartment.

Bellamy tilts his head at her. “Am I ever getting this mysterious key back?”

Raven smirks at him before closing the door behind her. “Never.”

Bellamy watches as Raven pokes her head towards the living room area where Lucie is focused on her homework before turning back towards Bellamy. 

“You going to tell me what this is about, Blake?”

“Don’t want to spend some quality time with your goddaughter?”

Raven throws him a look that indicates she isn’t up for the bullshit.

Bellamy sighs, throwing his head back a little dramatically and sparing another glance at his daughter again before turning his attention back to Raven. 

“I kissed Clarke, on the camping trip,” Bellamy admits, voice low enough that his daughter can’t hear. “I need to talk to her, tell her how I feel before it’s too late.”

Raven’s eyes nearly bug out of her head, eyebrows raised dramatically. She looks some mix of surprised and impressed. “I’m just glad one of you is getting your head out of your ass. I love Clarke, but we both know it was never going to be her.”

Bellamy laughs. “I’m surprised you’re not taunting me for proving you right after seven years.”

“Too easy,” Raven shrugs, letting out a laugh before her expression shifts into something more serious again. “I’m proud of you.”

Bellamy shakes his head at that. “I’m just - it’s exhausting.”

Raven nods solemnly. 

“So uh,” Bellamy continues, running a hand through his hair. “Just take her wherever for dinner and you should know I said you promised ice cream.”

Raven laughs. “You got it. Now get out of here.”

Bellamy tells Lucie goodbye and grabs his jacket and keys before turning back towards Raven as he pulls on the jacket. “You know, I heard that Wells broke up with Sasha.”

Bellamy smiles at Raven’s lack of surprise. She only tilts her head, looking somewhat exasperated. Bellamy shrugs as he opens his door. 

“I’m just saying, maybe I’m not the only one who can pull their head out of their ass.”

\--∞--

Bellamy knocks on Clarke’s front door, feeling jittery as he waits. He knows it’s a risk to just show up at her house - it would be safe to assume that Cillian is over. But he’s hoping it’s early enough that he’s still at the hospital. Otherwise, his plan to talk to Clarke is over before it started. Still, he couldn’t exactly ask to come over. Maybe it’s a low blow - maybe even a complete disrespect of boundaries - but he knows Clarke well enough to know that if she hasn’t wanted to talk yet, she’d only make up some excuse as to why she couldn’t see him. He’s done burying emotions and problems between them, and he isn’t going to let her get away with it anymore either.

The door swings open a moment later, revealing Clarke in a pair of leggings and a cropped muscle tank. Her hair is thrown up on top of her head, falling out in every direction because it isn’t long enough for her to wear it like that, and he doesn’t miss how there’s a few smudges of paint on her - orange on her arm, blue on her jaw. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, brow furrowed in confusion. “Is Lucie okay?”

Bellamy pushes past her into the house, feeling restless as his heart begins to pound.

“Yeah, she’s with Raven,” he tells her as she shuts the door behind him. Bellamy does a quick glance around the house, interrupted by Clarke’s sigh.

“He’s not here.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence as Bellamy runs a hand through his messy curls and Clarke crosses her arms across her chest, shifting awkwardly on her feet.

“We have to talk about this,” Bellamy abruptly starts. 

Clarke is already starting to shake her head, but Bellamy beats her to her rebuttal.

“Just- just let me say this, okay?”

Bellamy’s eyes run over the woman who his life has revolved around for so long, watching as she swallows thickly, scratching nervously at her arm. He feels such an affection for her in that moment, that it almost makes it easier for him to say what he needs to say. He’s finally putting words to something that has been living and growing inside of him for all these years, releasing it into the world.

“You told me a long time ago you didn’t want any grand gestures, that you just wanted someone to be honest and fight for you. God knows I haven’t done either. For so long I let my guilt convince me I wasn’t good enough for you, or that I couldn’t make you happy-”

“Bell,” she whispers.

“No,” Bellamy shakes his head. He knows if he looked at his hands, they’d be trembling. “Just let me finish.” Sucking in a breath, he continues. “I thought I couldn’t make you happy and that I was doing right by you, and by Lucie, by burying my feelings for you. I’m so sorry I’m only realizing now what a mistake that was. I know the timing is shit, I do. But I also know, more than anything, that I can make you happy - because I can’t fathom how anyone in the world could love you like I do.”

Clarke ducks her head in what he knows is an attempt at hiding her tears. He continues anyways.

“I have-” he pauses, choking on his own words. “I have loved you for so long it just feels like part of who I am and I want to spent the rest of my life fighting for you - for  _ us _ . Because if there’s no us, I don’t even know what the meaning of anything is. I-”

“Why - why are you doing this now?” Clarke cries, cutting him off and turning away from him. He glimpses escaped tears, running down her face.

“Because I  _ love  _ you!” he yells, much louder than he intended. “Because I can’t pretend I don’t anymore, even if you don’t feel the same.”

Clarke turns back towards him, looking utterly broken. “You don’t  _ love _ me, Bellamy, you’re just afraid of losing me.  _ That’s  _ why you’re doing this now - just like you were afraid on New Year’s.”

“That’s not true-” Bellamy desperately argues before Clarke fiercely cuts him off. 

“You  _ ghosted  _ me before you knew I was pregnant, for fuck’s sake!” she yells at him. Bellamy takes a step back, her words feeling like a physical slap to the face. Clarke looks just as surprised, as taken aback, by the intensity of her outburst. 

“You were going to  _ Princeton _ , Clarke. What was the plan? We’d fuck for a few months before you go off to your Ivy League across the country?”

Clarke is crying now, no longer attempting to rein in her tears. His own eyes are glistening, his throat welling with his own tears. 

“Then what, Clarke? You’d come home to Arkadia for thanksgiving with a doctor in tow? Maybe a lawyer if you were feeling rebellious,” he huffs. 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he can hardly believe he’s said them. Her words revealed a hidden chasm in their relationship, tore open old wounds he thought they’d healed years ago. Maybe they never did. Maybe they’d ignored them for seven years the same way he ignored his feelings for her, letting everything fester beneath the surface. Bellamy tries to lower his voice when he speaks again. 

“I didn’t answer you, because I knew it would break my heart if we started something that you were bound to finish.”

Clarke’s tears continue flowing, but her face is now red with anger. “No- no, fuck you, Bellamy! You never gave me a choice. I wanted  _ you _ , and you just made that choice for us, and I-”

“And that’s why you kept the pregnancy from me for 5 goddam months? To teach me a lesson?” He sucks in a sharp breath at his own words.

“I was afraid!” she screams back at him. “You didn’t want me and I was - I was already half in love with you. And you know what?” she asks, jabbing an angry finger into his chest. “I was right to be, because I pined over you for six years and you wait until I’m  _ engaged _ to do this.”

Clarke steps back as Bellamy clenches his fists, a horrible, infinite silence spreading between them. It’s filled with nearly a decade of pining and resentment, all spilled haphazardly into the growing space between them. 

“You need to go,” she tells him, eerily calm as she spins on her heel and wipes her cheeks with the heel of her hand. Bellamy ignores her, follows her to her bedroom, but isn’t quick enough. She closes the door on his face and he hears the click of the lock sliding into place. 

\--∞--

Clarke shuts her bedroom door on Bellamy’s face, her entire body trembling as she locks it. The tears continue streaming down her face as she slinks to the floor, back against the door. She wants so badly to believe everything he’s saying, but she’s so damn afraid. 

There’s a soft knock on the door, but she doesn’t respond.

“Clarke, please. Please, just listen to me,” he pleas from the other side, his voice muffled by the barrier between them.

She holds her breath and hears what she thinks is him slinking down to the floor too, back against the door on the other side.

“Please, don’t...don’t marry him,” he begs. 

“I can’t believe this,” she whimpers. “After all this time, you’re doing this now.”

“I know.”

There’s a long moment of silence, but she knows he’s still there. It’s more than the fact she doesn’t hear him leave. Door between them or not, she can still sense him there. She gently presses a hand against the door.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Would you please just let me in?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” she admits, forehead rolling against the door next to her hand. “You’re only doing this because you’re afraid of losing me.” She swallows, forcing her voice into something more calm and measured that directly contradicts the absolute panic and chaos she feels inside of her. “You’re not in love with me. You love Lucie, you love our family, and you’re afraid that’s going to change. It will, but not where it counts. You’ll always be her father, no one can take that from you. But,” she inhales sharply before continuing. “But you need to separate your feelings for our family from what you think you feel for me, and then you’ll see…”

“Clarke,” he tries. He sounds bewildered, at a loss. “That’s not-”

“ _ No, _ ” she forcefully cuts him off. “You only want me when I’m hurting,” she continues, quieter this time. “It’s who you are - you want to protect people, take away their pain. I love that about you, but it isn’t the love you think it is.”

The silence on the other side of the door seems to stretch on for eternity.

“You should go,” she says at last. Another agonizing beat of silence. “Please, just go.”

As the silence continues, she wonders if he left without her even realizing it. Minutes must pass by before he slides a note of some sort under the door.

“It was never just about Lucie.” 

This time, she hears him as he stands and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Sorry for bringing you more pain during the folklore era. Also, please no Clarke hate. If you don't understand her perspective, then congratulations: you're an emotionally healthy human being.
> 
> Oh also, this chapter was heavily influenced by the movie Made of Honor. I loved that movie as a 13 year old, don't @ me.
> 
> I matched this prompt submitter's donation by donating to [the Advancement Project](https://advancementproject.org/about-advancement-project/).


	22. I'm In Love This Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heellloo! I just want to say a big thank you for all the comments on the last chapter. I think that's the most I've ever gotten on a fic chapter and I haven't had the time to respond to them yet, but know I read and appreciate each one, and I'm super grateful you guys are still enjoying this story. 
> 
> Ya know the drill - this chapter was written as a "prompt" for the [Bellarke Writers for BLM Initiative](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.carrd.co), where myself and [other writers](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/writers) are accepting prompts in exchange for a donation to an organization that supports the BLM cause. We now also have non-writer content creators participating (e.g. gif makers, artists), so please check them out [here](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/content) and consider donating!
> 
> Chapter title is from 'What Have I Done' by Dermot Kennedy. Shout out to Jen for introducing me and giving me more music to bellarke cry to.

**~6 years ago**

Bellamy moves into the Griffin house on a Thursday afternoon, exactly one week before Thanksgiving. He finished a morning shift with the security firm around 2pm, and it’s now 3pm, meaning he should be arriving any minute now. Clarke doesn’t know why she feels anxious about his arrival. Maybe anxious is the wrong word. It’s not a _ negative _anticipation, but she feels on edge all the same. Bellamy and her really have become best friends over the last couple of months and part of her is excited to have him with her nearly constantly. She likes the idea of not having to make plans to see him, of him simply being there anytime he doesn’t have work. 

But she’s Clarke Griffin, and so she has her worries. They’re about nothing specific really, only a vague, but nagging concern that they’re making a change to an arrangement that has so far worked incredibly well. It was a necessary risk, a worthy one even, but a pesky voice she’s tried to bury warns her to give him space. She doesn’t want to overwhelm him, crowd him. She doesn’t want him to get sick of her. She doesn’t want to give him a reason to leave. It’s just that giving him space will be a hard thing to do, given that she pretty much always wants him around.

From where she’s perched on the couch in their front sitting room, Clarke watches out the front window as the red corolla finally comes up the development’s main road and turns into her driveway. She cracks her knuckles nervously, running her other hand over her ever-expanding bump. She has less than a month to go now. Technically, the baby could come at any time. With a little effort, she lifts herself off the couch and makes her way to the foyer. She gets there at the same time that Bellamy walks in, announcing a cautious _ “hello” _as he does. 

“Hey,” Clarke smiles at him. 

Bellamy turns to look at her as he shuts the door behind him. He’s got an average sized suitcase next to him and a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey, roomie,” he smiles at her. 

Clarke laughs, ducking her head, before looking up at him again. “Is that all you have?”

Bellamy shrugs. “I travel light.”

Ordinarily, Clarke would think he was making excuses, but she remembers the minimalism of his bedroom compared to the colorful chaos of her own. Bellamy must read her mind.

“Clothes,” he tells her, pointing down at the suitcase. “And books,” he finishes, shrugging the shoulder that the duffle bag strap lays on. 

Clarke laughs again, shaking her head. 

“Okay, this way, _ roomie _,” she tells him, starting to make her way up the stairs.

It isn’t an easy feat these days given that her back is always killing her. Bellamy slides the suitcase handle down and easily lifts it as he follows her up the stairs. Clarke is glad he has something to slow him down and distract him from hovering over her. She takes a deep breath when they make it to the top, more from nerves than fatigue, before padding down the hallway towards the guest room. Towards _ Bellamy’s _room.

\--∞--

Bellamy follows Clarke down the hallway, dragging his suitcase behind him and shifting the duffle bag on his shoulder. It’s heavier than it looks, given that it mostly contains books. She leads him to the guest bedroom across the hall from her own. He knows it’s the guest room closest to the nursery, which is the room right next to Clarke’s. 

Clarke hits the light switch when she walks in, the room shadowed because of the dark November sky, in spite of the two large windows that line one of the walls. 

“Ta da,” she announces, somewhat sarcastically, as she moves to stand by the window. 

Bellamy drops the duffle bag onto the bed and pulls the suitcase against the wall. “It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t even looked at it,” Clarke argues.

He looks up at her and can’t help the amused smile that slips onto his lips. Her hair is in a messy french braid that he guesses she napped on earlier and she’s wearing a pair of familiar black leggings. Her white tank top is stretched over her large bump and a burnt orange cardigan is worn over it. It looks a size too big for her and nearly reaches her knees. 

“I don’t need to look at it,” he laughs, but he does a scan of the room to please her. “It’s great,” he says again.

Clarke rolls her eyes. She seems a little tense and he wonders if she’s nervous. He’s got his own nerves he’s dealing with, but they’re more to do with living with Jake and Abby than Clarke. With Clarke...well, it doesn’t feel all that different from her basically living at his house over the last five years. Clarke takes a deep breath and he notices her shoulders visibly relax as she runs a hand along the windowsill before looking up at him. 

“Okay. I just want you to feel at home. If you want to paint, or get a different bedspread, or-”

“Clarke,” Bellamy laughs, beginning to understand where her nerves are coming from. “I don’t care about that stuff, really. This is great. It’s close to _ that _room,” he says, pointing towards the nursery, “where I think we’ll both be spending a lot more time anyways.”

That draws a smile from Clarke, giving him butterflies that he immediately attempts to smother.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” 

\--∞--

By the time Bellamy is eating dinner with the Griffins that night, he’s beginning to realize that his concerns were misplaced. In fact, it isn’t really awkward at all. Jake and Abby both worked late and came back with their favorite chinese takeout. Now, at half past seven, they’re all sitting around the coffee table as they eat, chatting easily about anything and nothing. Clarke, who had taken a dislike to eating at the dining room table around the seven month mark, was curled into the corner of the couch closest to him. Abby sat on the couch a few feet away and Jake sat on the ground across coffee table from Bellamy. It was a little shocking, the 180 things had taken in the last month or so with everyone. The baby - _ Lucie _, as everyone now knew - was no longer a point of contention, but the center of most conversations.

“I just feel like there must be _ something _we’re still missing,” Clarke complains before popping another piece of orange chicken into her mouth. 

The three of them groan in unison at her, which would be comical if Clarke wasn’t so stressed out.

“Clarke, we’ve gone over so many lists. We’re not missing anything,” Bellamy gently explains, for the tenth time, trying his hardest to remain patient. Although patience isn’t _ that _ hard, simply because it’s Clarke. He’s realizing that he’s likely to let her get away with just about anything these days. 

“Sweetheart, it’s just nesting - you’ll never feel 100% ready,” Abby assures her. 

Clarke scrunches her nose at that. “That sounds so weird.”

Jake laughs, pointing at Abby with his fork. “Your mother was trying to deep clean the entire kitchen two days before you were born.”

Abby laughs, playfully rolling her eyes at her husband. It’s strange for Bellamy to witness them, so in love after being married for so long. Maybe the reason he thought that was never in the cards for him, the reason he was never interested in it, is simply because he’d never seen it. After Octavia’s father left, his mom had never been in another serious relationship. But Jake and Abby...well, it was different. He glanced at Clarke, imagining what it would be like to have something like that with her. In another life, of course.

Clarke’s mouth twitches in a small smirk. “Bellamy would lose it if I tried that.”

“And?” he quickly quips back. 

“Good,” Jake nods approvingly, causing the girls to groan.

“Pregnant women aren’t invalids,” Abby scorns them. 

Twenty minutes later, most of the takeout boxes are emptied, scattered across the coffee table. When Clarke’s phone buzzes, the other three pairs of eyes look up at her. 

“You guys are nosy,” Clarke scolds without looking up, eyes trained on her phone screen. “It’s only Harper.”

“Are they all still coming over Tuesday night?” Jake asks.

Clarke nods, typing out a response before setting her phone down again. “Jasper is driving all the way up so he might be on the later side, but Wells, Monty, and Harper all have earlier flights.”

“You excited to see them all?” Bellamy asks, scooting to sit against the couch in front of her. 

None of her friends have been home since they left for school last summer, meaning none of them have seen Clarke in person since finding out she’s pregnant. 

“Of course,” Clarke insists, but her unsteady tone betrays her. Bellamy glances at Abby just as she raises her brow at her daughter. 

“Nervous too,” Clarke admits a beat later. “I don’t know why.”

Bellamy feels a small, but familiar pang in his chest at her words. He always feels it when, however unintentional, someone says something that reminds him he knocked her up at 18, during a one night stand, and that the circumstances of her being pregnant aren’t...well, _ normal _. Just like her hesitation over the lamaze class, it’s another instance where Clarke should be excited, but she’s nervous instead. It’s because Bellamy is recycling these worn out thoughts that a new idea comes to him. 

“You guys will have a great time,” Jake insists. 

“I know,” Clarke answers, some of her confidence coming back to her. 

Jake’s cell interrupts the conversation after that. He shifts, pulling it out of his back pocket, before checking out the number. 

“Ah great,” he mutters, starting to stand. “It’s work,” he tells them, before heading down the hallway towards his office. 

Clarke yawns loudly. 

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she announces. 

Bellamy shifts so she can get around him. When she squeezes his shoulder as she gets up, it somehow feels both like the most thrilling and normal thing in the world. He doesn’t realize that he’s openly watching her walk out of the room until he hears Abby collecting the empty containers behind him.

“Oh, I can get that,” he insists, quickly leaping up to help. 

“_ Thank _you,” she tells him, giving her daughter a mock look of disapproval before taking the containers to the kitchen. Bellamy follows on her heels, carrying the ones left behind. 

“You’re going to quickly become my favorite house member, aren’t you?” she quips, taking the containers from him to throw in the trash. “Unfortunately, I can’t blame Clarke’s unhelpfulness on the pregnancy.”

Bellamy laughs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m aware, unfortunately.”

He can’t count the number of times he’s picked up around his own house after her. The only credit he can give her is that Octavia is twice as bad.

“Hey, um,” Bellamy starts, as Abby turns around to face him again, brushing off her hands. “Did Clarke ever say anything about wanting a baby shower?”

Abby crosses her arms, leaning back against the counter. 

“No, but I guess with her friends away at school, I didn’t consider it.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Bellamy agrees, leaning forward against the kitchen island, eyes trained on a smudge that he’s rubbing at. “But I was thinking, all her friends don’t leave until Sunday, what if we threw her a surprise one on Saturday? Do you think she’d like that?”

“And, I know it’s last minute,” he continues, not waiting for an answer from Abby. “But I could plan it, or at least get Raven and my mom-”

“Bellamy,” Abby cuts him off. When he looks up, there’s a warm smile on her face, like she’s some mix of impressed and thoroughly amused. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Yeah?” His shoulders relax in relief. 

Abby nods. “Of course, it’s Clarke, so we can’t have any of those cheesy games and what not.”

A wide smile spreads across Bellamy’s face as a soft laugh escapes him. “Of course not.”

“But I think a celebration, with her friends...I think she’d really enjoy that.”

“Okay, great. I’ll call Raven tomorrow and see if she can help me pull it together.”

Abby raises her eyebrows. “That girl could probably pull a baby shower together in _ 24 hours _, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Bellamy laughs. “Okay, awesome.”

“Just let us know what you need, and we’ll make it happen,” Abby tells him, patting his arm as she walks past him. “Goodnight, Bellamy.”

\--∞--

It’s nearly 8pm when Jasper arrives at the Griffin house. He doesn’t bother knocking, instead choosing to loudly bust through their front door while yelling something about the king returning. Everyone’s standing by the time he enters the living room, Clarke slower than the others, rushing to greet their friend they haven’t seen since the summer. Only Bellamy and Raven hang back, the two outliers in the group. 

It’s not that Bellamy doesn’t know Jasper and the others. He spent a lot of time with them over the last five years. Sure, they weren’t around as often as Clarke, but they were still his sister’s best friends for a long time. But that may be precisely why he’s feeling awkward around them. It might have been easier if they were all brand new people. Instead, he’s always been _ Octavia’s older brother _ rather than one of them, which makes him feel self-conscious and guilty all over again. Despite that Harper, Monty, and Wells haven’t said or done anything to indicate they think it’s strange, he can’t help but wonder about what’s been said on private text threads and calls. He wonders what they’re really thinking about all of it. 

Bellamy certainly can’t find it in him to regret anything - not when he looks at Clarke, carrying their daughter who now has a name and already feels like the best part of his life. But he still wishes things were less...complicated. 

“Hey, man,” Jasper greets him once the rest of them give him space, going back to their seats on the couches and arm chairs.

“Hey, welcome back,” Bellamy answers, shaking his hand. 

“And _ congrats _,” he adds dramatically, gesturing at Clarke sitting beside him before taking a seat next to Harper on the loveseat. 

Bellamy is relieved the blush in his cheeks doesn’t show, but he can still feel the heat rise in his face.

“Thanks,” he answers, proud of how steady the word comes out. 

Luckily, the attention immediately shifts from him to Raven while Clarke introduces Jasper to her. 

The night moves along easily after that, Bellamy quickly understanding why Octavia kept this group of people around. Given how relaxed Clarke seems as she laughs at Monty’s story about visiting Wells at Yale, he thinks Clarke also realizes that her nerves were unnecessary. The group also easily includes Raven in the conversation, asking her about Arkadia State.

Just as Harper starts berating Jasper for drunk facetiming her a few weeks ago at 3am, Bellamy leans closer to Clarke.

“I’m going to grab a water, do you want anything?” he murmurs.

Clarke offers a small smile but shakes her head, shifting her attention back towards Harper. Bellamy doesn’t miss how Wells gives Monty a pointed look once he moves away from Clarke again, but he only stands and heads towards the kitchen, trying not to dwell on what it meant. He doesn’t realize anyone followed him until he’s opening the fridge.

“Hey,” Raven greets him, as he’s taking out one of the expensive bottles of sparkling water the Griffins keep the fridge stocked with. He’s growing a little too accustomed to them. 

“Want one?” he offers, holding it up to her. 

“Sure.”

Bellamy gives her the one in his hand before grabbing another for himself and closing the fridge door. Raven kind of intimidates him, but her directness can be refreshing at times. Still, he doesn’t really know her. He’s only spent time with her a couple of times when she hung out with both him and Clarke at the house, which is why he feels a little awkward being alone with her. 

“Okay,” she starts, after taking a sip of her water. “So I’ve got all the decorations set. You texted everyone and let them know the plan?”

Bellamy nods, taking a sip of his own water. “And everyone agreed to bring something, potluck style, and my mom said she’s making cupcakes.”

Raven grins at that. 

“Perfect. You know, this was a pretty good idea, Blake.”

“I’ve hardly done anything except text people,” Bellamy laughs.

Raven narrows her eyes at him. “You _ cared _, don’t sell yourself short,” she tells him, patting his arm before heading back to the living room.

Bellamy shakes his head at that. _ Cares _ feels like the biggest understatement in the world. He follows Raven out of the kitchen, taking his seat next to Clarke on the couch again. 

“I’m just saying, I know Jasper is out, but Jordan can be a girl’s name,” Jasper argues.

“We’re not naming her Jordan,” Clarke counters, shooting him a mock scornful look. “Actually, we picked out the name already - Lucie,” she adds, after a beat. 

There’s a lot of clamoring after that, all of her friends talking over each other to tell her how much they love it. Raven, the only one besides him and their families who knew, is watching the scene with another wide smile on her face. 

“How did you come up with it?” Harper asks. 

A small, somewhat awkward laugh escapes Clarke. Her eyes briefly find Bellamy’s before turning back towards Harper.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Once again, everyone clamors about how they want to hear it, talking over each other. So Clarke dives into the story about their joke about Lucius, about Bellamy feeling the baby kick for the first time, and how she came up with Lucie from that. 

Clarke doesn’t clarify the spelling or explain why she chose that variation, and Bellamy finds himself glad for that. He wants to keep that moment, laying beside each other in his bed - in a dark bubble of security, of intimacy - all to himself. It’s a moment no one else deserves to know.

\--∞--

Clarke lays on her back on the couch, curled up with a blanket. The only light is from the small electric fireplace in the corner of the living room and the television, which is playing A Christmas Story. It plays on a loop on TBS every Thanksgiving and Clarke, thanks to her inability to fall asleep, is catching the second showing which started at 2am. She hates how excited she gets when she hears the front door unlock, even though she’s certain Bellamy will be less than happy that she’s still awake. He had a shift at the bar tonight, which was probably incredibly busy given that it’s Thanksgiving Eve.

Presumably following the sound of the television, Bellamy appears at the living room doorway a moment later. 

“What are you doing up?” he asks. 

In truth, Clarke has been feeling anxious about her quickly approaching due date. Not to mention, it’s _ very _hard to get comfortable with how huge her bump has became. Her daughter doesn’t make it easier either, with the frequent kicking.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” she tells him, knowing he’ll only worry if she complains about the details. 

Bellamy nods, moving to sit beside her on the other side of the couch.

“A little early for christmas movies, isn’t it?” he huffs with a laugh once he realizes what she’s watching. 

Clarke smiles at that. “It’s officially Thanksgiving, so we’ve officially entered _ the holidays _.”

Bellamy laughs, but doesn’t say anything more.

“Aren’t you tired?” she asks a beat later, wondering why he’s still sitting with her. 

Bellamy frowns, shaking his head, eyes still on the screen. “Not really.”

He waits until she’s looking at the television again before he turns to her, but she still catches it out of the corner of her eye.

“Want to lie down?”

God, she hates that she immediately knows what he means by that. Ever since Halloween, them _ cuddling _, for lack of a better term, has become a little too common. Frequently it’s how they end up watching television together - her head on his lap, his arm around her, hand resting on her bump. But she knows why he’s asking - she almost always falls asleep when they do this. She isn’t sure why, but it’s like it’s the most comfortable thing in the world and it’s all too easy to surrender to sleep when she’s in his arms. 

“Yeah, thanks,” she agrees, in spite of her growing awareness that this practice will only wreck her mental health in the long run.

Bellamy pulls a pillow onto his lap and Clarke shifts to lay down on him. His arm immediately loops over her like it’s where it’s always belonged, his hand pressed against the bare skin of her stomach because of the way her shirt rides up. Clarke closes her eyes, which are already growing heavy because of the way his fingers soothingly comb through her hair. It isn’t long before she slips under. 

\--∞--

“I told you I don’t want to go out,” Clarke complains, searching through the shirts hanging in her closet. “I’m exhausted,” she adds. She also hates the way she looks in literally everything these days, but she doesn’t mention that. Raven will only try to hype her up, and she’s not in the mood.

“Clarke,” Raven warns, her tone suggesting she isn’t planning on taking no for an answer. “All I said is to change into something that are not _ leggings _.”

Emotion swells in Clarke, a childish frustration. 

“That’s all I have these days,” she snaps at her friend.

“Sit,” Raven commands.

Clarke takes a deep breath and moves to sit on the edge of her bed, still wrapped in her towel, while her friend takes over at the closet.

“What about this?” Raven tries after about thirty seconds, pulling out a navy maxi sundress. 

“It’s winter,” Clarke points out.

“Put on a cardigan,” Raven shrugs, rolling her eyes as she brings the dress over.

“My boobs probably won’t fit.”

“Just _ try _ it,” her friend commands, clearly exasperated with her.

Clarke takes the dress from her and inhales another deep breath. Clearly, her friend is trying to do something nice, whatever that may be. The least she can do is suck it up. Raven flops onto the bed, flipping through an art book left on Clarke’s bedside table as Clarke changes into the dress. She looks at herself in her vanity mirror, ruffling her mostly dry hair, her makeup already done. Okay, so maybe she was being a tad dramatic. It looks _ fine _. 

“Perfect,” Raven comments, looking up at her as she sets the book aside. 

Clarke only gives her a pointed look before going back to her closet to pull out a loose beige cardigan. 

Raven grins at her, throwing her a chef’s kiss. “Let’s go.”

“Do I need my wallet?” Clarke asks, already searching for it. 

“No, no, just come with me.”

Clarke eyes her friend wearily, but says nothing as she follows her out of the room and down the hallway towards the stairs. 

“Where are we going?” Clarke complains as Raven passes the front door and heads towards the front sitting room.

Clarke barely turns the corner into the room, Raven stepping aside, before she’s faced with a chorus of _ surprise _ from her friends and family. Her friends are all here - Harper, Wells, Monty, and Jasper. Her parents and Aurora too, and Bellamy of course. Even Nathan Miller is standing against the wall near Bellamy. She forces her gaped mouth into a smile, her heart fluttering as she sees letters that spell _ Clarke’s Baby Shower _strung across the wall. One table against the far wall is holding more food than she imagines they’ll be able to eat and there’s a pile of gifts in the opposite of corner of the room.

“I don’t know what to say,” Clarke laughs, the lump in her throat making her voice sound strange. 

“Say thank you!” Jasper yells. 

The entire room laughs as people make their way to her, giving her hugs. 

“Thank you guys,” she murmurs as she hugs her friends and family. She’s eventually guided to sit on the central couch. 

“You should have heard this girl _ complaining _,” Raven teased, causing everyone to laugh again.

“Well, there better not be any of those ridiculous games planned,” Clarke warns. 

Everyone laughs again, and she doesn’t miss Bellamy sharing a knowing smirk with _ her mother _of all people. She’s not quite sure what to make of that.

Over the next thirty minutes, everyone grabs food and sits around talking. Clarke’s heart feels more full than it has in a long time, the same security and warmth that she feels when Bellamy has his arms around her currently enveloping her. There aren’t any stupid games, but everyone talks excitedly about her daughter, and that’s really all she wanted. She tries not to think about her friends leaving the next day and enjoy the time she has left with them. 

“Hey.” Bellamy pokes her shoulder, leaning over the back of the couch behind her. He holds up his phone when Clarke turns around. 

“Someone wants to say hi,” he smiles, handing the phone over.

Clarke barely has time to bring the phone up to her face before she hears Octavia’s excited voice on the other end. Her friends hear it too. Monty, Harper, Wells, and Jasper all quickly gather around her - on the couch and behind it - so they can talk to Octavia with her. Clarke spares a quick glance around the room as Jasper rambles on, hardly letting anyone else get another word in. Miller and Raven are talking with her dad, laughing about something or another. Bellamy is chatting with both their moms. Their backs are to her, but Clarke’s catches Bellamy’s eye, offering a smile that she hopes conveys even half of how happy she feels.

\--∞--

Aurora, Abby, and Bellamy all look at each other in confusion when the doorbell rings. 

“Is anyone else coming by?” Abby asks him.

Bellamy furrows his brow. 

“I don’t think so, but I can get it.”

Abby thanks him as he heads towards the front door. Maybe it’s a delivery or something, who knows. Instead, when Bellamy swings open the door, he’s greeted by pretty much one of the last people he expected to show up at the Griffins’ house. 

“Murphy?” Bellamy questions, opening the door wider but making no move to let him in. “What are you doing here?”

“You said there was a baby shower,” Murphy shrugs at him, like that explains everything.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Me _ telling _you that was not an invitation.” 

Bellamy is pretty sure Murphy already knew that given how he remains mostly unaffected by that point. 

“I brought a gift,” he adds, holding up a gift bag. 

Bellamy folds his arms. “I don’t believe for one second that you care about a baby shower.”

The truth is, Bellamy had somewhat begrudgingly become friends with Murphy over the last three months, given how often they worked the same shift. Still, it had never extended outside of the bar.

Murphy sighs. “Alright, so maybe I lied and told Anya that I was coming to this thing so I didn’t have to pick up a shift tonight. But then I got to thinking, and baby showers have free feed and all-”

“What’s in the gift bag?” Bellamy questions. 

“Nothing inappropriate, scout’s honor,” Murphy promises. Despite his mildly sarcastic tone, Bellamy believes him. He pretty much always sounds mildly sarcastic, and Bellamy hasn’t found him to be a liar since he’s known him. It’s usually the opposite problem - shooting straight with an absolute lack of tact. With a heavy sigh, Bellamy steps aside. 

“Come on in,” he tells him, already feeling weary of his decision. 

Bellamy leads Murphy back to the front sitting room. Unsurprisingly given her busy schedule, Octavia has already hung up and people have started bringing the gifts over to Clarke. Everyone’s eyes are drawn to him and Murphy when they walk in. Aside from Miller, everyone appears only mildly curious regarding the new guest. Miller raises his eyebrows, looking a mix of surprised and delighted. 

“This is my friend Murphy,” Bellamy introduces him. “He works with me at the Drop Ship.”

Everyone welcomes him, probably not feeling nearly as weird about it as Bellamy does, and their attention shifts back to Clarke and the gifts. Murphy hands his gift bag off to Bellamy and goes straight for the food, making a plate and sitting down next Raven on the loveseat. Bellamy is pretty sure Murphy said something offensive by the way Raven’s nose scrunches at him but then she says something indistinguishable back and Murphy smirks at her with a pleased expression. From what he knows of those two, they’ll either hate each other or become fast friends. Maybe both. 

Murphy’s gift ends up being the last one that Clarke opens. She pulls out a large book, a navy hard cover with gold pages. Bellamy can’t tell what it is from where he’s standing. 

“That’s mine,” Murphy starts, seemingly unsure of himself. It’s a first from what Bellamy has observed. “I’m aware that won’t be useful for a long time, but I’ve been reading it to my niece, and she loves it so-”

“It’s perfect,” Clarke cuts him off. She seems genuinely touched - emotional even. 

“What is it?” Bellamy asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

“It’s a collection of the Narnia stories,” Clarke announces, except she looks up at her dad instead of Bellamy when she answers him. A knowing smile passes between the two of them, one Bellamy doesn’t understand, but wants to. Bellamy wants to know everything about Clarke Griffin. 

\--∞--

It’s nearly 8pm when everyone begins to clear out. Clarke is already sad, knowing that the next time she sees them she’ll be far too exhausted adjusting to motherhood to give them any real attention. But she’s also exhausted _ now _, and wants nothing more than a hot shower and sleep.

Wells envelops her in a somewhat awkward side hug due to her bump, assuring her that the next month will pass quickly. Once he pulls away, Clarke catches a glimpse of Murphy shrugging his jacket on. It’s strange to see him in person, after hearing all of Bellamy’s stories about him. He’s also the last person she would have expected to give her a gift like that book, so she figures she owes him a thank you.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Clarke tells him as she walks over to him. “And it’s nice to officially meet you.”

“Well, I figured I should put a face to the name, you know?”

Clarke laughs. “Likewise I guess - and thank you for the gift. It was really sweet of you.”

Murphy lowers his voice, as if he’s preparing to say something scandalous. “I know what you’re thinking, Clarke. Why are the good ones taken, right?”

Clarke rolls her eyes at him. “Aaannnd, you ruined it.”

Murphy only laughs. Clarke can’t tell if she’s a fan yet.

“Well, anyways, it was my favorite as a kid. My dad used to read it to me, so it means a lot.”

Murphy nods, the shit eating grin momentarily disappearing. “Well, I’m glad. Congrats, by the way.”

Clarke nods, offering another smile before he walks away. She looks around at the group in the room, somewhat amused by its contents. The friends she grew up with, the girl whose boyfriend she accidentally cheated with, and of course Miller and Murphy - Bellamy’s oldest friend and the guy who he got into a bar fight with nearly a year ago. It’s an odd group, but to Clarke’s relief and happiness, it somehow seems to work. 

\--∞--

Bellamy leans against the counter in the exam room, Clarke laying back on the table with her bump exposed. Dr. Jackson moves the ultrasound wand across her and the sound of their daughter’s strong heartbeat reverberates throughout the small room. 

“Well, everything looks great,” Dr. Jackson comments. 

Bellamy can practically feel the tension radiating off of Clarke as she huffs at that.

“Then why doesn’t she want to come out?”

Dr. Jackson chuckles as he wipes the gel off her and the ultrasound tech turns off the machine. Clarke is officially a week past her due date and Bellamy feels terrible about her clear frustration and discomfort. 

“Well, we’re definitely not at the point where we would want to induce labor. These things tend to happen on their own schedule, and as frustrating as it can be, it’s best to let things progress on their own time. There are of course, old wives’ tales that anecdotally have been shown to induce labor, but there’s hardly evidence that-”

“Like what?” Bellamy interrupts, a little too eagerly. He’s afraid Clarke is going to lose it if this goes on for much longer. When he glances at Clarke, she looks just as interested in hearing about it.

“Well,” Dr. Jackson starts. “Going for walks, raspberry tea, sex.”

He pauses for a beat, as if thinking, either not noticing or acknowledging the way the two of them tense at the last option.

“Spicy foods too,” he continues. “But you have to be cautious with that - not _ too _much, you don’t want to go into labor with heartburn.”

No one says anything for a beat, before Bellamy clears his throat. 

“Okay, I guess we can try some of those then.” He hates how rough his voice sounds. 

Bellamy and Clarke are quiet as they walk to the car, neither saying anything until Bellamy is pulling out of the hospital garage. 

“Well, I guess we could get some Thai for dinner, and pick up some tea on the way home. Go on a few walks too,” Bellamy suggests. 

Obviously sex is off the table, but he still wonders if she’ll bring it up. To his relief, she doesn’t. 

“Sounds like a plan,” she agrees.

\--∞--

“Nothing is working,” Clarke complains as Bellamy opens the front door for her.

Bellamy chuckles. “We met with Dr. Jackson this morning, less than 12 hours ago.”

“And we just went on our second walk and ate thai food in between, and still nothing,” she argues, flipping on the lights. 

The house was dark, her parents gone for the evening at an Eligius event in Salinas, a two hour drive from Arkadia. They had gone back and forth on whether they should go, given Clarke already being past her due date, but Clarke managed to convince them that it was only a couple hours and that she had Bellamy with her anyways. He was a bit in awe of the fact that his presence was used as a positive, not quite used to how quickly the dynamic between her parents and him had changed. 

“C’mon, I’ll make you the tea,” he tells her, heading towards the kitchen. 

Clarke begrudgingly follows him and they take two mugs of tea to the living room to watch _ Parks and Rec _ reruns over the next hour. By 9pm, Clarke tells him that she’s tired and heading to bed. He follows soon after. 

\--∞--

Clarke nervously wrings her hands, relieved that the carpeting in the upstairs hallway (hopefully) prevents Bellamy from hearing her pace outside his door. This feels insane. This _ is _ insane, but she’s going to lose her mind if she doesn’t have this baby soon. Really, it’s the least Bellamy can do at this point. She pushes aside her subconscious’s accusations reminding her that what she’s about to ask is not _ completely _about the baby. Before she can talk herself out of it, she taps a few quick knocks on Bellamy’s door. Bellamy pulls the door open a few moments later. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answers quickly, running a hand through his hair as he steps aside.

“Were you sleeping?” she asks, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxers, leaning against the wall opposite her. 

“Just reading. Everything okay?”

“I think we should have sex,” she blurts, before she loses her nerve.

Bellamy coughs, seemingly choking on air. “No.”

“Bellamy, c’mon. It’s the only thing we haven’t tried. I’m exhausted, it’s worth a shot.”

“I said no.”

“It’s just sex. What’s the big deal?”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her in disbelief, dramatically gesturing to her bump.

“You know, I don’t _ think _ that’s going to happen again,” she teases. 

Bellamy huffs out a laugh, ducking his head. “You know what I mean.”

“Look, I know I’m not exactly _ attractive _ like this.” She thinks that’s an understatement, given that she’s felt like a cow for months now. She’s wearing leggings and a tanktop that no longer covers her bump all the way, her hair messy and falling out of a bun on top of her head. Clarke has seen better days. 

Bellamy, however, only quickly shakes his head at that. “That is _ not _ the problem, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at that. “You don’t have to pretend that’s true, I’m not offended, really. I just think-”

Bellamy laughs, almost disbelieving, cutting her off midthought. 

“I’m not being _ nice _.” Bellamy doesn’t blush easily, but Clarke thinks his cheeks darken a little - his eyes too. “I- it’s like a - I don’t know, like-”

“Then why are you saying no?” she asks, standing as she cuts off his stuttering, putting him out of his misery. 

Bellamy lets out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his now messy curls again. “I don’t want to screw things up between us.”

“Bellamy,” she says slowly, like she’s explaining something to a small child. “It’s just sex. Just _ once _, before Lucie is even born. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, almost as if he’s in pain. Except when he opens them again, she can see how black has swallowed the brown in them. 

“If you just don’t want to, that’s fine. I get it, it’s not a big deal, but at least own up to it. Don’t pretend like-”

His lips cut her off midthought, the searing warmth of them making her forget the rest of whatever lecture she had planned for him. It’s a little awkward, her protruding stomach pressed against him as he leans in, cupping her face. As soon as she attempts to deepen the kiss, her body already coming alive under his touch, he pulls away, hands still holding her face.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks quietly. 

“Yes. I promise.”

Bellamy sighs. More than ever, she wishes she knew what he’s thinking. But then he kisses her again, hands running down her sides, and she’s pulled away from any train of thought at all. It’s a little awkward because of the bump between them, the way that Bellamy has to nearly hover over her as he tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue easily slipping into her mouth. She revels in the taste of him as her hands move from his face to his curls. Clarke can’t help but think about how different this feels from 9 months ago. Less tension, less hurried, but so much better. She knows, truly knows, who the man in front of her is. He’s her best friend and this isn’t just lust. She wants to be as close as possible to him, she wants to show him all the feelings she has no words for. 

Bellamy breaks away with a light gasp, helping her to lay down on the bed, pulling off her tank top as he does. Settling between her legs, he begins pressing kisses up her stomach, sending a shiver up her spine. She’s exhausted and truly didn’t expect this to feel as incredible as it does, but maybe there’s something to be said about finally getting what you’ve craved for so long. Bellamy’s mouth works his way up her stomach and towards her chest. He hovers over her awkwardly, clearly not used to having to work around a bump. A laugh escapes Clarke and Bellamy looks up at her with a smirk, acknowledging the physical awkwardness of the situation. But it only makes her realize just how close they’ve grown, how truly comfortable they are around each other. 

“I didn’t really think through the literal _ how _ of how this is going to work,” Clarke laughs. 

Bellamy’s responding smile makes her heart flutter, warmth spreading from her core to every limb. 

“C’mere,” he laughs, climbing off of her and helping her back up. This time, as soon as she’s standing, he turns her so that her back is flush against his chest. Pressing slow open-mouth kisses down her jaw, neck, and shoulder, he works on unclipping her bra and slipping it off of her. His arms envelop her, lips never leaving her skin and hands running up her stomach until they reach her breasts. He trails his thumb across a pebbled nipple, his gentle squeeze of the opposite breast drawing a whimper from her. 

“You okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing against her ear.

“Just sensitive,” she manages to choke out, already feeling wetness pool between her thighs. 

With only his boxers on, it’s obvious she’s not the only one already affected. After pressing a few more kisses to her shoulder and neck, hands grazing her bump again, he brings his lips to her ear again. 

“Are you comfortable like this?” he asks, one hand trailing down to the band of her leggings. 

Clarke hesitates for a moment, her instinct telling her to assure him that it’s fine. But this is Bellamy, someone she doesn’t need to pretend with.

“Honestly, my back kind of hurts standing,” she answers. 

Bellamy straightens, looking at the bed in front of them, hands gently running up and down her sides in a way that’s driving her insane. 

“Maybe on your side, me behind you?” he asks. 

Clarke stifles a laugh at the way his tone is so matter-of-fact, like he’s suggesting a restaurant for dinner. Again, she revels in the fact that while she certainly feels heat rising in her cheeks from how much she wants him, it isn’t from embarrassment. _ Intimacy _. The word comes back to her again, just like the first time he held her on the couch on Halloween. It makes her heart react to his presence the same way that her body reacts to the feel of his chest pressed against her back. 

“Yeah, that works,” she tells him, breaking away to slide off her leggings. 

Clarke watches him after she pulls them off, now completely naked in front of him and bewildered that she doesn’t feel the urge to hide. Why would she, when he’s looking at her like that? Like he wants to devour her. She lets her hair down, running a hand through it before laying down on the bed. Before she has a chance to roll onto her side, he settles on the bed between her legs, pressing kisses up her inner thighs. She recognizes that she hardly needs this, that she’s more than ready for him and this deviates from the clinical reasoning she was clinging to as to why they should do this, but the thought of Bellamy’s tongue on her quiets that reasoning. If this is the only chance she gets to have him like this, she can hardly deny herself the opportunity. 

His breath is hot against her sensitive skin as he reaches her center. She grasps at the sheet in anticipation, Bellamy holding her thighs apart as his tongue swipes up her folds. Her bump obstructs her view of him, but one hand snakes up her hip, reaching for hers. She interlaces their fingers, gripping him just as his tongue circles her clit, drawing a loud moan from her. The grip he has on her leg tightens at the sounds he draws from her, seemingly motivating him as he begins to relentlessly lick into her. She doesn’t even need a finger before she’s coming hard, squirming and clutching his hand tighter, but it only leaves her craving him more. She needs Bellamy inside her _ now _. 

Bellamy clearly doesn’t sense her urgency. He presses slow kisses up her leg, her hip, across her stomach.

“Bellamy, _ please _,” she gasps, her tone nearly scolding. 

Bellamy shifts to lay beside her, propping himself up so that he can look down at her. She expects a smirk, or at least a smile, but his eyes hold an intensity that makes her wonder if this was a mistake after all. He leans down to kiss her, lips moving passionately, the taste of her on his tongue. Clarke’s hand moves to cup his face before threading her fingers through his curls, pulling him closer and drawing a groan from him. It seems to ignite some kind of urgency in him, because he moves away immediately to shuck off his boxers, next to her again in an instant. He helps her turn onto her side, his hands moving over her bump as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her skin. He continues kissing down her neck and across her shoulder before she turns her head back to look up at him. 

“You ready?” he asks, voice wavering and quiet. 

Clarke’s heart is racing as she nods, all too aware of how fast this seemed to shift into something more emotional than she prepared herself for. One hand snakes under her neck, her head cushioned by his bicep, while the other leaves her bump to guide himself into in. His lips brush against her cheek, breath rough and labored as he pushes into her. Clarke sighs in relief, chest heaving at the feel of him filling her so completely. Bellamy, _ her _Bellamy, completely and utterly connected to her. His hand now free, he interlaces his fingers with hers again, their joined hands moving over her stomach as he begins to thrust into her. 

Clarke whimpers as his pace steadies, involuntarily throwing her head back against his shoulder. He takes advantage of the easy access to her throat, lips trailing along her skin, gifting her with kisses along the way. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Princess,” he pants. “Fuck.”

She clenches tighter around him at his words, causing him to curse into the crook of her neck. 

“Right there, Bell. There,” she pants, the pleasure coursing through her body quickly becoming overwhelming. She feels like she’s floating on a cloud, toes already beginning to curl as she rocks back against him, her body attempting to meet his thrusts. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, Princess,” he groans. 

Clarke turns her head, using her free hand to push his face back up to hers from where it’s still buried in the crook her neck. He seems to understand and lifts up enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them covered with a thin sheen of sweat. His black eyes bear down into hers and she clutches his interlaced hand tighter as she falls over the edge, moaning and involuntarily squeezing her eyes shut. Even without her sight, Bellamy is everywhere as she unravels - throbbing inside her, sharing the same breath, skin hot against hers, soft murmurs in her ear.

“That’s it, Princess. Good girl, that’s it.”

Clarke hasn’t yet settled, the aftershocks of her orgasm slowly rippling through her, when Bellamy lets go. He groans loudly, forehead pressing against her temple as he empties into her. She whimpers at the warmth of him filling her.

Neither moves, panting and chests heaving, seemingly content to remain wrapped up in each other. Clarke isn’t sure how much time goes by while they lay there, him still buried inside of her, face resting against hers and hands gripping each others’. Bellamy is the first to move, his lips trailing up across her cheek to her temple, pressing a tender kiss to her damp hairline. Clarke can’t place why the gesture makes her want to burst into tears. She swallows thickly, freeing her hand from Bellamy’s. He takes the cue, pulling out of her and rolling onto his back. With a little effort, she turns onto her other side to face him, arm cradling her bump. Bellamy turns to face her, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. 

“You okay?” he asks. He sounds worn out. 

Clarke swallows again, unable to process the emotions weighing heavy on her chest. She promised this wouldn’t change things. 

“Of course,” she assures him, offering a wry smile. His responding smirk makes her feel a little better - like it’s possible for things to be normal again.

“Sorry,” he starts, reaching to run his hand over her bump. “I got a little carried away.”

“No, it was...good.”

“Ouch,” Bellamy laughs. “Just good, huh?”

Clarke laughs in return, unsure of whether to be relieved or disappointed by the fact they’re already back to their normal selves. She isn’t sure what to make of it, but at least things don’t seem to be awkward or ruined, and that’s what’s most important.

“_ Really _ good,” she clarifies in a mock sultry tone, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from Bellamy’s hand that continues moving across her bump. “So Princess is a thing for you, huh?” she teases. 

Bellamy laughs harder, ducking his head this time. To his credit, he doesn’t seem too embarrassed. 

“Well clearly you weren’t lying when you said you liked when _ I _ say it.” 

Clarke swats at him, biting down on her bottom lip to hold in a laugh. 

“Am I wrong?” he teases. 

“Not exactly,” she admits. 

Clarke isn’t sure what else to say, the glow of their moment slowly draining from the space between them as reality settles over them again. He must feel it too, because he finally pulls his hand back from her. 

“Well, hopefully it worked,” he prompts, breaking the long stretch of silence. 

Clarke feels her heart drop into her stomach at his words, but she tries her best to appear unaffected. “Yeah, hopefully,” she agrees. 

Another awkward beat passes before she tells him that she’s going to take a shower. They both climb off the bed, Bellamy quickly slipping back into his boxers. He gathers her clothing for her, given that she can hardly bend over. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks when he hands them to her. 

“Of course,” Clarke assures him, proud of how confident she sounds. “I told you, it’s just sex.”

“Right,” he quickly responds, tugging nervously on his ear.

Clarke heads to the door, not bothering to change first. “Night, Bellamy.”

“Goodnight. Let me know if you need anything.”

Clarke playfully rolls her eyes at that. “I’ll be fine.”

Bellamy lets out a small laugh, smiling at her but saying nothing more. 

Clarke slips into the dark hallway, the silence feeling overwhelming to her. She manages to wait until she’s standing under the shower before she bursts into tears.

\--∞--

_ Well, fuck _, Bellamy thinks.

There’s a lot of emotions coursing through him at the moment, but that’s really the only thought he can muster. He shouldn’t have let his guard down like that. Could she tell? Could she tell how much he wanted her, loves her? He releases a hefty sigh, moving over to his dresser to take out his contacts, replacing them with his glasses. He feels - he doesn’t know. It’s all too much. He feels like he’s going to burst.

_ Was it insane to think that she might want him too? _ he wonders as he collapses onto his bed. 

Bellamy reaches for the book he was reading before Clarke came in, knowing damn well there’s no way in hell that he’ll be able to _ read _ right now. Still, he opens it, thinking maybe he can trick his brain into believing that he’s not completely freaking out. He’s spent months convincing himself that him and Clarke are better left alone, but...how could that be true, when sex with her felt like _ that _. Then again, maybe that’s what sex with someone you’re in love with always feels like. That was a first for him, so he isn’t really sure. 

Over the next hour, Bellamy reads three paragraphs, several times over, the same thoughts about Clarke cycling through his mind. He tosses the book across the bed in frustration, cracking his knuckles. Maybe he should just talk to her. What was the worst that could happen?

He doesn’t have time to consider that further before his door swings open without warning. Clarke walks in, wearing another pair of leggings and an XL tshirt, hair still damp from her shower. He sits up straighter at the look of distress she’s wearing.

“Bellamy, my water just broke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt all over the place editing so apologies for any typos. I was also nervous to post this bc I've been hyping it, I hope you guys liked it. This was one of the first ideas I had for this fic so it was a fun one to write. 
> 
> I matched this prompt submitter's donation by donating to [Until Freedom](https://untilfreedom.com/about/).


	23. But You Dream Of Some Epiphany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for sticking with me for this crazy story, we're in the homestretch now. 
> 
> Ya know the drill - this chapter update was reequested as a prompt for the Bellarke Writers for BLM Initiative, where myself and [other writers](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/writers) and [content creators](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/content) are accepting prompts in exchange for a donation to an organization that supports the BLM cause. Non-bellarke writers are also participating and no amount is too small - learn more by visiting the [carrd](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.carrd.co/) and feel free to message or DM me for more details! 
> 
> A special thanks to [wanderlusttraveler11](https://wanderlusttraveler11.tumblr.com/) who donated for the initiative and requested an ABOY update as a prompt. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the song 'epiphany' by taylor swift.

Curled into his side on her couch, Clarke glances up at her fiance. His eyes are trained on the television, unaware of her gaze. Unaware of her indiscretions. Unaware of her guilt. Unaware of everything. Her only relief has been focusing all her attention on her work. Specifically, Lincoln’s exhibit at the gallery, which was finally opening on Saturday, just two days away. 

She jumps when her phone buzzes. She’s felt on edge all day - since Bellamy left the night before. 

“Easy,” Cillian laughs softly as she leans across the couch to grab the phone off the coffee table. 

“That’s weird,” Clarke wonders aloud, seeing Raven’s face flashing on her lock screen. She isn’t one to call instead of text. “I’m going to take this,” she tells him, climbing off the couch. 

Clarke unlocks her phone, answering it as she slides the back door open and slips outside onto the deck. There’s a chill in the air, but it feels refreshing. 

“Hey,” she answers, tucking her hair behind her ear as she sits on the deck stairs. “What’s up?”

“I’m only going to ask this once,” Raven answers by way of greeting. “And I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because it’s been a hard few months.”

“Raven-”

“And I say this as someone who loves you, dearly - but Clarke, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Clarke furrows her brow. Her confusion only lasts a beat. 

“Bellamy,” she says quietly, a statement more than a question.

“He finally tells you how he feels, tells you what we _ all _have known for years, what you’ve been wanting to hear for years, and you turn him away?”

Clarke sighs, trying to form some kind of mental barrier so that Raven’s words don’t sink into her too deeply. She can’t break down over this with Cillian in the house. Still, she feels tears well up in her throat and swallows past a lump before trying to speak. 

“Bellamy is scared. He doesn’t want things to change, and he’s scared, and-”

“Jesus, Clarke. Are you serious right now?” Raven groans. “Bellamy is _ not _ the one who is scared right now. Bellamy is the one who got his head out of his ass, who decided to be brave. Ball’s in your court now.”

“It’s not that simple - I’m _ engaged _. Bellamy’s...his feelings, didn’t make Cillian or my relationship with him just go away.”

“And what about _ your _ feelings?”

Clarke remains silent. She can hear Raven sigh before taking a deep breath, like she’s gathering patience, before she speaks again. 

“Clarke. You and Bellamy...you’re like magnets. You’re fighting so hard to stay away from each other, when you have to fight so hard to make you and Cillian fit. And I get it, I do. Cillian is a good guy. He’s an easy choice and he can’t hurt you because I don’t think you even love him enough for him to hurt you. Maybe you had some legitimate reasons for stepping back before, but Bellamy made those reasons irrelevant. All the rest is bullshit, and you know it. I know you know it. I wouldn’t be saying this to you if I didn’t know you already know that.”

“Raven, I have to go,” she tells her quickly, hanging up before her can respond. She waits, staring at her phone for a few seconds, wondering if Raven will call her back. She doesn’t.

Clarke gazes up at the sky, feeling even smaller than usual. She misses her dad so damn much, it feels like a physical wound. The breeze blows her hair off her shoulders, and Clarke is reminded how that’s all he is now - something she can feel, but never something she can see again. Certainly not something she can hear, which is what she needs most. His words, his advice. 

She lifts up to pull the worn piece of paper out of her back pocket. Thanks to the soft glow from the light next to the back door, she can just make out the words. 

_ You two reminded us a lot of ourselves when we were young. It’s clear from your nervous smiles that this is something new and we’re not sure of the circumstances that led you to the diner looking like you each walked through hell to make it here, but if the love we saw shining from each of you tonight is anything to go by, we think your future together looks brighter. Remember, if it’s right, it’ll happen. Nothing good gets away. Have a wonderful new year. _

The note - the check - wears so many creases that she feels like she has to treat it delicately, a rare artifact that belongs in a museum rather than her unworthy hands. She swallows thickly, looking at it again. Clarke had been confused when she first picked it up, until she saw the name of the diner and date typed in miniscule letters. In the 24 hours since he slid it under her door, she’s already memorized its words. What confuses her most, what breaks her, is how worn it is. This is a piece of paper read often, folded and unfolded countless times over. 

Clarke tries to picture the sequence of events from so long ago. She imagines leaving Bellamy behind to answer her phone. What did he think when he read these words? The words themselves are nothing groundbreaking. It’s only someone wishing them well and being kind enough to tell them that they’re a cute couple - or so they had thought. But why hadn’t he showed her? That’s the confusing part. They could have laughed it off together, so why did he lie when she asked? Or more importantly, why did he keep it all these years? The words are nothing special, but two lines run through her mind over and over again, torturing her.

_ If it’s right, it’ll happen. _

_ Nothing good gets away. _

It was like a doomed prophecy for her and Bellamy. But he held onto it and her heart aches when she considers that maybe he held onto it because of those two lines. Because they gave him something like hope.

“Clarke?”

Clarke jumps, quickly sliding the paper into the front pocket of her hoodie before turning around to face Cillian. He’s standing at the open door.

“Hey, sorry,” Clarke starts, standing up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just Raven wanting to vent about some stuff going on at work.”

Cillian lets her in, closing the door behind her. Once they sit back down, she lets her hand slide into her pocket, brushing her fingers against the soft paper. 

\--∞--

“I don’t want to go,” Lucie complains from the back seat of his truck. “It’s going to be boring.”

“I know, Luce. But Mom worked hard on this and we brought your coloring book for if you get bored, okay?”

Lucie crosses her arms, pouting. “Fine.”

_ Stubborn like her mother _, he thinks.

The thought would usually make him smile, but it only makes the ache in his chest intensify. That particular trait of Clarke’s isn’t one he wants to think about at the moment. 

_ Bellamy had gone to his truck, slamming down on his steering wheel and crying out in frustration. But after that, a strange calmness came over him. He was quiet the entire ride home from Clarke’s house, allowing a horrible, empty, numbness to overtake him. He knew that it wouldn’t last and prayed that he wouldn’t break down before he put Lucie to bed. _

_ When he walked into the apartment, he found Lucie and Raven on the couch, watching some cartoon. Raven’s gaze snapped up to meet his while he stood there with his hands in his pocket. He gave Raven a quick shake of his head. He could see how her wide brown eyes shifted from hopeful to sympathetic in an instance. _

Bellamy’s phone buzzes just as he pulls into his mother’s driveway. 

** _Mom: _ ** _ Running late. _

Bellamy sighs as he turns off the car. He hasn’t seen Clarke beyond her dropping off Lucie this afternoon so she could head to the gallery early, and he just wants to get this entire night over with. It was a short, stilted conversation that he doesn’t want to relive. 

“Nana’s running late,” Bellamy tells his daughter, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Let’s wait inside.”

“Mom?” Bellamy calls, letting him and Lucie into the house. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she calls from the direction of the bathroom. 

Lucie immediately flops onto the couch and turns the television on. He glances wearily at her, knowing that it’ll be even harder to get her back in the car now, before following the sound of his mother’s voice. The bathroom door is open and he finds her putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

“You’re late,” he tells her, leaning against the doorway frame.

“I know, I know,” she says hurriedly, running a brush through her dark hair. “You look nice, honey,” she observes when she glances over at him. He’s wearing a blue button up and black trousers, when all he really wants to be in is a t-shirt and sweatpants. Wallowing. 

“Where’s O?” he asks, ignoring the compliment. “Is she ready?”

“She headed over early with Lincoln.”

Bellamy hates how sour he feels about everything at the moment. Sour enough that the jealousy he feels of his sister’s relationship overshadows any happiness he can muster for her. 

“Alright. You ready? We’re going to be late.”

“Bell,” his mother starts as she sets her hairbrush down, voice thick with sympathy. 

Bellamy takes one look at her and knows that his sister opened her big mouth after he told her not to. She’s the only one he talked to about his conversation with Clarke, but that was apparently a mistake. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he immediately warns his mother, turning away from her. He can’t afford to fall apart right now. 

“Bell, just a minute,” she tries, pulling him back to face her again. 

Bellamy gives her a pointed look. “I told O not to say anything to anyone.”

She tilts her head, giving him her own pointed look. The kind that only mothers can master. “I’m your mother, I don’t count as _ anyone _.”

“There’s nothing more to say. I’ve told my truth. I was honest. She either doesn’t feel the same way, or can’t be honest with herself. Either way, it’s over.”

“You know, for someone who’s been holding onto something for so long, you’re pretty quick to let it go.”

Bellamy shakes his head, frustration growing. 

“This is Clarke we’re talking about. I can’t control her anymore than I can control the weather.”

His mother’s gaze softens. “Give her a little time, Bell. You know she - _ all of us _\- are going through a lot right now. We both know Clarke has never been good with change - she’s probably clinging to a sense of normalcy.”

Bellamy furrows his brow. “I can’t-” He pauses, swallowing, hating how choked up he already sounds. “I can’t wait forever. She’s getting _ married _, Mom.”

She shakes her head at that. “We both know that regardless of her feelings for you, that man isn’t right for Clarke. She’ll come to her senses about him-”

“Mom,” Bellamy snaps, cutting her off.

“They haven’t even set a date.”

Bellamy squeezes his temples in frustration. 

“Mom,” he repeats, making an effort to soften his tone. “I don’t want to talk about this, especially not right now. Are you ready to go?”

Aurora purses her lips, but says nothing more, only nodding towards the doorway. “Lead the way.”

\--∞--

Clarke sits at her desk in her office, already changed into her conservative black cocktail dress. She scrolls through her email, checking it one last time before she returns to the floor to triple check everything. Maybe she’s over-thorough, but it’s what makes her good at her job. 

“Knock, knock,” Octavia tries, tapping a few times on the open door to her office.

Clarke's gaze pops up to meet hers and she forces herself to smile at her friend, although the gesture feels empty these days. 

“Hey! You’re here early,” she greets her.

Octavia walks further into the office, falling into one of the arm chairs in front of Clarke’s desk. “I came with Lincoln. He’s as neurotic as you are.”

Clarke laughs. “Well hopefully that means tonight will go off without a hitch and we can call it a success.”

Octavia is uncharacteristically quiet, eyes intense as they scan her. She knows this woman so well, even after how long they spent apart. 

_ She knows. _

“O, I don’t have time to talk about - about _ that _,” she warns, before Octavia can launch into some argument, or scolding. Clarke is stressed enough, her lecture from Raven still weighing heavily on her mind. 

Octavia laughs softly at Clarke’s defense. “I’m not here to yell at you.”

Clarke flashes her a doubtful look before locking her computer and taking a pair of hoop earrings out her desk drawer. There’s a beat of silence, as Clarke slides one into her ear before Octavia speaks. 

“You know, when I first found out you were pregnant, I was afraid it was going to tear us all apart.”

Clarke tenses, surprised at her words. She abandons the second earring, setting it back on the desk, attention fully focused on Octavia. 

“I thought, Bell, and _ Clarke _? Sure, maybe there’s a spark there, but you guys are going to burn each other down and take the whole city with you.”

Clarke lets out a small laugh, rubbing at her temple before letting her head rest in her hand. 

“But you proved me completely wrong - and pretty quickly. Suddenly, I was hundreds of miles away from you guys, my two favorite people in the world, and all I could do was worry that I’d been replaced. _ Bellamy _ was your best friend, not me.”

Clarke’s expression softens. “O, that’s not-”

“No, it’s okay,” Octavia hurriedly insists. “I was jealous at first, but...happy, too. It was better that you guys were getting along, instead of me being torn between my two favorite people with a kid in the mix.” She shakes her head, as if aware that she’s getting off track. “My point is, it took me a while to get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you guys work so well as parents. You were never _ just _ best friends, Clarke,” she tells her, rolling her eyes a little, as if the concept is ridiculous. “You’re so damn in love with each other - and for some reason, you won’t admit it. Since I got home, I’ve been trying to figure out why that is.”

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. She doesn’t have the energy to dispute Octavia’s words - she can’t lie to her like that. When she finally looks up at her friend again, her green eyes are watching her carefully. Assessing her. 

“You know, I know what it’s like to be afraid.”

Clarke nearly scoffs at that. Octavia had always been the bold one, the fearless one, both in life and with her feelings, her emotions.

“I haven’t been totally honest, about why I came home,” Octavia adds. 

Clarke furrows her brow, frowning at the admission. “What do you mean?”

“I was deployed for a long time, years, with this guy - Ilian.”

Octavia must quickly note Clarke’s curious expression because she immediately chuckles. “It wasn’t like _ that _. We were just really good friends - we went through training together and found our way back to each other a few times, including for my most recent deployment. Ilian had a wife and a two year old kid at home. He lived for the idea of the future - getting back to his family. He would show me all these photos his wife sent him,” she continues, smiling at the memory. “I envied him at the time. My future felt like this terrifying blank slate. I didn’t have anything to get back to - I love you guys, of course. But - it wasn’t the same. I’ve never known what I wanted. And then, about four months before I came home, he was killed in an ambush.”

“I’m so sorry, O,” Clarke murmurs, eyes glistening, heart aching for her friend. Octavia only shakes her head. 

“It’s okay,” she laughs, voice a little stilted. “My therapist is paid to listen to the gritty details. My point is,” she continues, swallowing thicky. “My point is, his death made me question everything. The senselessness of his death broke me and it was like overnight I had no idea what we were supposed to be doing over there. I was disillusioned with everything and more lost than ever.”

Clarke thinks of her father’s death, her own thoughts about how seemingly random it all was. Maybe death would always feel unexpected and random and senseless, no matter the circumstances. No matter how prepared for it you pretended you were. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the damn kid in the photos, the lost future, because of something so damn random. All I kept thinking was that he should have been home with them. When I was eighteen, I thought the military would give me a sense of purpose. Because even at eighteen, I was afraid of how lost I felt - like I was drifting while everyone else was moving at full speed ahead. Ilian’s death made me question all of it - if we were doing any good at all, and mostly - most importantly - it made me question what I was _ still _ doing there. I had to admit to myself that the only reason I stayed was because I was so afraid of that empty future - that blank slate. I’ve never been a planner like you, and it was so daunting, thinking about what I wanted out of life. So I just stayed put.”

A soft smile slips onto Octavia’s face before she continues. “Then I got a picture from Lucie, one of her coloring pages.”

Clarke lets out a watery laugh, hating the emotion rising in her against her will, threatening to break free. 

“I immediately thought about Ilian’s son and realized I didn’t want to miss out like he did. I had no idea what I wanted to do, or what would happen, but I knew who I wanted by my side while I figured it out. I had to move forward somewhere, _ anywhere _, past the fear and all the what ifs if I was ever going to be happy. Because I didn’t want to end up like Ilian. I didn’t want it to be too late.”

“O...why are you telling me all this now?”

“Because, maybe it’s not the exact same situation, but you’re letting the what ifs and the unknowns about the future keep you from what we both know would truly make you happy.”

_ Bellamy _, Clarke thinks. It doesn’t have to be said out loud.

“Maybe this isn’t a life or death situation, but...I don’t want you to wake up in five years with regrets, because you made your decisions based on fear instead of what’s actually in your heart. I know it’s scary, but sometimes diving in head first is the only way to know. Happiness - _ real _ happiness...it’s worth the risk, Clarke.”

Clarke quickly swipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

“And maybe my future is still blank in some ways, but I’ve got you guys. And of course, I also have that _ incredibly _hot and talented man out there,” she adds with a wink, making Clarke laugh. “You don’t have to say anything, but just - just think about what I said, okay?” Octavia finishes, finally standing from the chair. 

Clarke nods. “Thanks, O. I love you.”

“I love you too, but we’ve got to get going or it’s going to be your fault when my boyfriend’s first exhibit crashes and burns.”

Clarke shakes her head, letting out a huff as she finally puts the other earring in and stands. “Let’s go.”

\--∞--

Clarke scans the main room, feeling pretty pleased with herself about how well the night is going. Maybe her personal life has hit rock bottom, but at least she has her work. She knows it isn’t as important as family, but hell if it doesn’t make her feel some kind of fulfilled. Even Cage’s presence, a surprise given that Lincoln’s exhibit is hardly the kind of high profile event that would usually attract him, can’t ruin her night. Then again, it might even be a good thing he’s here. He’ll be able to witness the gallery’s success - _ her _ success.

All of her friends and family are here to support her, and Lincoln too of course. Clarke has a feeling that Lincoln is going to become a permanent fixture in the group sooner rather than later. The only person _ not _ at the exhibit opening happened to be Cillian. He’s stuck late at the hospital and Clarke is grappling with the fact that she feels more relieved than upset about it. As if on cue, her gaze shifts to Bellamy, who is pointing at a painting and saying something about it to Lucie. Clarke can’t help but smile, mostly because she suspects he’s talking out of his ass. He knows nothing about art.

“Hey, you,” Clarke hears from behind her, feeling a hand on her shoulder before turning around.

Wells is smiling at her as he moves to stand beside her. She’ll always have a soft spot in her heart for him, her oldest friend. 

“This is great,” he adds.

Clarke laughs softly. “What do you know about great exhibits?”

Wells nudges her, laughing softly. “Will you take a compliment for once?”

A comfortable moment of silence passes between them.

“Hey, I heard about Sasha and you-” Clarke starts.

“From who?”

Clarke gives him a pointed look. “You told _ Jasper _.”

Wells laughs. “We got drinks the day after - clearly a mistake. I should have known better.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Here?”

Clarke shrugs. “At this point in the night, I basically just need to make sure no one burns down the building.”

Wells laughs before letting out a heavy sigh. “I mean, it was nothing groundbreaking. I liked her, I did. We had fun together and a lot in common and...I don’t know. Something was just _ missing _ , you know? I can’t even say what. Everything was perfect on paper, and yet...I don’t know. As lame as it sounds, all that comes to mind is that there just isn’t that - that _ spark _ everyone always talks about.”

Clarke turns to Wells, watching him carefully. His gaze drifts over to Raven, holding an old fashioned as she laughs along with Maya at something Harper is saying. She looks incredible in a red cocktail dress and matching red lips.

“So this _ spark _,” Clarke starts. “Do you think that just maybe, you have it with someone else? Someone standing in this room?”

Wells turns to her, slapping a hand to his chest as he stares at her in mock surprise. “Clarke Griffin, are you coming onto me? After all these years?”

Clarke laughs loudly, elbowing him. “Shut up. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Wells sighs, his gaze returning to Raven. “How’d you know?”

“Because Raven looks at you as wistfully as you’re looking at her now - that, and I’ve never seen her go so feral on a newcomer as she did with Sasha at Christmas.”

“Wait a minute,” Clarke adds before Wells can respond, eyes widening in realization. “You drinking to Miller’s _ never have I ever fallen for a friend _ question. It was about _ Raven _.”

Wells laughs. 

“Okay, I’m a little bit hurt now,” Clarke jokes.

“Well, you _ did _ have someone drink for _ you _.”

Clarke swallows, looking away, the light mood immediately disappearing. Wells must sense her apprehension, because he doesn’t say anything more about it. 

“I’m not really sure that she likes me anyways,” he ponders, sounding unsure. “It’s Raven - even if she _ does _ feel the same way, that doesn’t mean she won’t talk herself out of it.”

Clarke’s chest tightens, unable to ignore how similar that sentiment is. Octavia’s words from just a few hours ago drift back through her conscious. 

“Maybe it’s still worth the risk. I guess there’s always a risk when it comes to love, right?”

Wells turns to her slowly, raising an amused eyebrow. “Are you going to take your own advice?”

Clarke looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says dismissively. 

Her thumb moves over the diamond on her ring finger, but she’s craving the soft, worn paper of an old check.

Wells laughs. “I won’t say you’re a terrible liar, because you’re actually pretty decent at hiding. But I’ll just remind you that I’ve known you longer than anyone, and so I know when you’re kidding yourself.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s not.”

\--∞--

Clarke shuffles through a few papers on her desk, more than ready to head home. More than anything, she wants a hot shower and her bed - and she wants to be in her bed _ alone _. No Cillian. No Bellamy. Just her, left alone to sift through her broken thoughts. Her only relief is that the night went off without a hitch.

She had managed to studiously avoid any interaction with Bellamy. It was almost too easy, so she figures that Bellamy probably had similar intentions. Their only interaction was when he brought Lucie over to her to say goodnight. Saturday was Clarke’s night, but Bellamy offered to take her so that Clarke could take her time cleaning up after the exhibit. 

Clarke had hugged her daughter tightly, pressing a kiss to her head before she ran off towards Emori, completely unaware of the heartbreak her parents were enduring. At least there was that - they managed to keep their daughter out of this.

Bellamy stood in front of her, hands in his pocket, the tension between them heavy. 

“Thanks for taking her tonight,” Clarke tried. Bellamy nodded shortly, turning to go.

“Wait,” she begged, reaching for him, her body moving before her mind could process it.

He looked at her, searching her with steady brown eyes that made her stomach flip. There was a shadow of hope in his eyes as she held her breath, trying to think of something to say.

“Bellamy, I…” she started, stumbling over her words.

Before her eyes, a mask of indifference slipped over his face, the hope draining from his eyes. 

“Clarke, I meant every word. But this needs to be done, one way or another. I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep putting you first, putting my life on hold if you don’t feel the same way.”

“Bellamy,” she tried, sucking in a breath. She doesn’t know what she meant to say anyways.

“I’m not saying that’s on you - I’ve made my choices,” he continued. “And Luce will always come first, but us - me and you - I can’t do this anymore.”

Clarke bit down hard on her bottom lip, feeling speechless and more at a loss than ever. It was a testament to how well Bellamy knows her that he didn’t look at her expectantly, waiting for any kind of answer. He knew she couldn’t provide any kind of coherent response in that moment. Instead, he pressed a quick kiss to her temple, one that she wished he lingered longer for, before walking over to retrieve their daughter. 

Clarke shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the memory of his lips, his broken eyes, as she shrugs her black peacoat on. A knock on her open office door startles her, given that she thought she was completely alone in the gallery. Her eyes land on Cage Wallace, dressed in a suit that costs more than Clarke earns in a week. She tries to focus on her irritation at his presence, her anger even, but she can’t shake the uneasiness that he instills. 

“What did you think?” she asks, straining to keep her voice steady and confident as she buttons her coat. 

“I was impressed,” he starts, stepping into her office. “Truly I was. You’re good at what you do.”

Clarke sighs, attempting to take the compliment for what it’s worth. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“Unfortunately,” he continues. “I’m here bearing bad news.”

Clarke stills completely, brow furrowed as she stares at him. 

“I’ve been looking over my father’s books since he passed, and the gallery just isn’t pulling its weight these days. I’m going to renovate it - turn the building into another nightclub.”

“_ What _ are you talking about?” Clarke questions in a shaky voice, unable to mask her anger. “It’s doing better than ever, it’s-”

“Clarke,” he cuts her off. “It just doesn’t compete with the bars, the restaurants, the nightclubs. I’m sorry, it’s just where the money is these days.”

“Your father would hate this.” Maybe it’s a low blow, but she doesn’t feel bad about it given that Cage hardly seems affected by her mention of him.

“My father’s not here - and was not a great business man.”

“Why did you even come tonight?”

“Well,” Cage starts, eyes raking over her in a predatory way as he casually leans against the wall beside the door. “I wanted to give you one more chance to prove this place’s worth - you know. Convince me that the gallery is worth my while.”

A chill runs up Clarke’s spine as she clutches her purse, the tension in the room thick as she realizes what he’s implying. What he’s asking for. She feels like she’s going to be sick, but in that moment, more than anything, all she feels is anger. This feels like the last straw. After everything she’s gone through, after working her ass off in this position for the last three years, it’s yet another loss for her. 

Clarke walks over to him, heels clicking sharply on the smooth tiled floor. She observes how Cage’s smirk sharpens, an amused anticipation in his eyes as she stands in front of him, only a breath away.

“You can go fuck yourself,” she spits. 

The look of surprise on his face that she barely glimpses before she brushes past him gives her the smallest bit of satisfaction. The loud click of her heels echo throughout the dark gallery as she walks out of the building, head held high. She waits until she’s sitting in her car before she bursts into tears.

\--∞--

Clarke doesn’t know where she’s driving. She only knows that she can’t go home to her empty house, but also doesn’t have the strength to face anyone. Just months ago, she had a grasp on her life. How did things crumble so fast? She wipes at her wet cheeks, knowing her makeup must be a disaster. She’s only minutes away when she realizes where she drove to, as if on autopilot. When she parks, she immediately gets out of the car, for some reason feeling desperate for the cold air - for that familiar blend of sea salt and campfire smoke that makes her feel like her father isn’t so far away.

She leans against the hood of her car, parked at their spot in front of the ocean, and looks up at the dark sky. It’s a clear night and the stars are bearing down on her, and she can’t help but wonder if her father is _ somewhere _. She huffs a dark laugh obscured by tears. 

_ What would her father think of her now? _

Pulling her father’s watch out of her pocket, she lets her fingers run over the cool metal, soothing her. She never goes anywhere without it these days, even though it’s too big for her to wear on her wrist. 

Raven’s, Octavia’s, Wells’s words all tumble through her mind. Deep down, she knows they’re all right. Not because _ they _ said it, but because she feels it in the deepest corners of her heart. The heart she has a hard time listening to, a hard time trusting. She bursts into tears, no longer able to hold in the sob. Not here, in this place, when she’s feeling overwhelmed and terrified and just wants her father and she wants...she wants _ him_. 

_ Bellamy._

She’s unemployed, her father is gone, and the only reason she hasn’t lost it is because she knows that no matter what they’re going through now, she still has _ him _ . She knows he’ll catch her when she falls, even when she’s horrible and selfish and a coward. He hasn’t let down once, not since he came back into her life because of Lucie. Maybe Lucie is the reason he stepped back into her life, but he’s right - she isn’t the reason for what they have now. She can count on him to be there for her, not just their daughter, and she doesn’t know why she’s been so resistant in accepting it. Or maybe she _ does _ know, she thinks as she remembers Octavia’s words - fear, plain and simple, for what lies ahead. She turns the watch in her hands, over and over again, fingers running over the engraving.

_ My heart, my home _. 

Her father knew, she realizes - long before she did. She thinks back to their last conversation, the one that took place exactly where she’s standing now. 

_ But it’s also rare, what you two have. It’s what I have with your mom. _

Clarke’s finger runs over the engraving for what feels like the hundredth time. _ My heart, my home _. It was what her parents were to each other, and her father knew then, where Clarke’s home really was. She wasn’t ready to listen, but God she is now. What she wouldn’t do to hear him tell her again. She would accept it like gospel. Maybe her dad isn’t here to witness it, but maybe it’s not too late to listen. 

_ My heart, my home. _

Something about those four simple words hits her differently tonight. Because she wants to go home, but until now, she didn’t know where that was anymore. It’s not her empty house. It’s not her parents’ house, where her father’s absence feels like an open wound. But if heart is synonymous with home, then it feels more simple than she ever realized.

_ “I’m in, Clarke. I want to be here for you, for all of this. I’m going to be a father to our kid.” _

_ “I can promise you that no matter how I’m feeling on any particular hour of any particular day, leaving never has and never will cross my mind.” _

_ “I’m in this, Clarke. Because I want to be. You’ve always got me, no matter what.” _

_ “You’ve kind of become my best friend too.” _

_ “I can’t believe you remember that.” _

_ “Of course I do, Clarke. I remember everything about us.” _

_ “I’m not going anywhere.” _

_ “Let me be your ocean.” _

_ “Please, don’t leave.” _

_ “Hey, never, Clarke. Never.” _

_ “He said that if you told me to go, I should stay - and I promised him. I promised him I would always stay.” _

_ “I couldn’t because I couldn’t tell everyone about the moment I knew for certain that I was in love with you.” _

_ “I can’t fathom how anyone in the world could love you like I do.” _

_ “Because if there’s no us, I don’t even know what the meaning of anything is.” _

_ “It was never just about Lucie.” _

Clarke puts the watch back in her jacket pocket, climbing back into her car with a renewed sense of purpose - optimism even. 

_ Nothing good gets away _.

Clarke scoffs at the sentiment as she turns her car on. Plenty of good gets away. Sometimes it isn’t your fault. Sometimes you hold on so tightly your knuckles turn white, and life rips it from you anyways. But there are other things that slip away easier. Things that slide through your fingers because you aren’t as careful with them as you should be. Sometimes good things slip away for one simple reason - you let them. 

Clarke breathes deeply, trying to calm her nerves as she drives back towards downtown Arkadia. Her and Octavia aren’t so different. The only difference is that Clarke didn’t have to travel across the world to run away - she managed to do the same damage from the comfort of Arkadia. But she’s more determined than ever not to share Ilian’s fate. She wants to go home before it’s too late.

Clarke nearly tumbles out of the car as soon as she parks it, swallowing thickly, shuddering from nerves. It doesn’t take long for him to make it to the door once she knocks. When he opens the door, his confusion is obvious.

“Clarke? What are you doing here?”

She knows she must look like a complete mess - smudged makeup, wind blown hair, flushed cheeks. But she needs to do this now. As Raven said, the ball’s in her court. She’ll never know with certainty how things might work out, but she’s so tired of running. She wants to go home.

Clarke sucks in a deep breath before speaking. “Can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeek, sorry for the cliffhanger. I had to! I know you guys were probably craving more action, but it's coming up. Clarke had to do some soul searching first. 
> 
> I matched this prompt submitter's donation by donating to [the Activist Medical Fund](https://activistmedicalfund.org).


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